The Dating Game
by sakurananachan
Summary: Meet Sherlock Holmes the world's greatest match maker. His matchmaking record was spotless; but there's one match he never predicted... "John you are abnormally attracted to..." "YOU!"
1. Chapter 1

I found this super awesome video on JohnLock; to be honest I just recently got into the fandom so I hadn't really thought about writing fics on Sherlock just yet, but after watching that specific video, it was inevitable, I had to do it!

The video's name is "The dating game" and it tells the story of Sherlock Holmes, a dating consultant.

I tried to develop that idea, but I still wanted to maintain their main personalities so I'm not sure how this is looking so far, so if you have any observations feel free to do so, as I love comments and like improving.

 **Meet Dating Consultant Sherlock Holmes**

"So you are telling me there's such thing as a dating consultant?"- the disbelief was lacing his voice because, really, who had ever heard of such a thing?

"I only heard about it through my neighbor"- the woman sitting besides answered.

They really were not bothering to keep their conversation at a private volume, because John could hear everything they were saying even if he was sitting a few seat away from them on the tube.

"You mean the freak that has a thing for that ugly girl in the bookstore next to the train station?"- the man asked and for some reason John felt a strong dislike for him.

"Yeah, well, he went to this guy and now they are dating!"- said the woman almost in shock.

John wasn't sure what was more irritating, the tone of their voices or the fact that nobody else seemed to be finding their conversation offensive.

"Well apparently the consultant is a little bit of a freak himself if you ask me"- the woman continued: - "His website says he can read anyone's personality like an open book!"- she exclaimed and it was only then that a couple of the commuters seem to show some interest in the conversation.

"And what's his name?"- the man asked curiously.

But John didn't get to hear it since the mechanic voice on the speakers announced he had arrived at his stop. He didn't care terribly, it wasn't like he needed any help in that department.

When he emerged from the stairs leading up from the underground, he was greeted by a rare sunny day in the streets of London.

He was 7 or 8 block away from his horrendous flat, but he really couldn't afford a taxi right now. Money was tight. One would think that they would give him a little bit more of money over the trouble he went through, but no. And finding a job as a "war journalist" - as they call them - with a leg injury (Allegedly psychosomatic, at least that's what his therapist said) and a little bit of PTSD was no easy task.

His cane made no noise on the pavement and it bothered John terribly, it almost felt like he was leaving no sign of his passing, no sign of his existence… Being a journalist he was always the witness of everybody else's passing in life, but who would remember him?

Maybe he did need those anti depressants his therapist had been trying to prescribe; but they just made him feel so useless.

Without noticing he had already reached the park that was two blocks away from his place, in a couple of minutes he would be… Home? No it wasn't home, it wasn't even a flat. It felt more like an oversized cup board with a sink.

"John? John Watson?" - the familiar voiced pulled him out of his musings as he turned around to find his old college mate, Mike Stamford: - "I know, I'm fat"- he said extending his hand towards John understanding his look as a sign of confusion, it wasn't. John knew immediately who he was just by his voice, what he did not expect was to find that voice in that place since, last he had heard. Stamford had moved to another city looking for a job.

"Mike, hello, how are you mate?"- John asked shaking the extended hand and forcing himself to smile since he knew he was frowning, he was always frowning lately.

"What have you been up to? I heard you got kidnapped by a group of terrorist in Afghanistan?" - Mike asked bluntly, but then again that was a common trait amongst journalists.

"Yeah, being kidnapped by terrorist in Afghanistan" - John answered just at bluntly, because what else could he answer.

"Let's catch up over a cuppa. I don't have to be back to work for over an hour now"- Mike asked with a sincere smile on his face; John didn't really wanna go back to his place, so why not indulge in some coffee?

"Sure mate"- said John and started following Mike to a nearby coffee stand.

After exchanging the common pleasantries of catching up with someone you haven't seen in awhile, John now knew Mike worked at their old University as a journalism professor, was happily married (That was a shocker!) and lived a pleasant life; in turn Mike found that John had made it back from his terrible experience in Afghanistan in as much of a one piece as one could be after being in war and was currently stuck in a horrible place.

"Why don't you ask Harry for help?" - Mike asked bluntly, everybody knew John was not in good terms with his sister, but she was, after all, his sister.

"Nah, I really rather not" - John answered feeling a strange pang in his left shoulder; it had been cold the past couple of days, so maybe it was a remnant of a discomfort on a shoulder injury acquired during his captivity in the war.

"How about a flatshare?" - asked Mike and fished out in his pocket for his mobile, he had gotten a text.

John snorted in disbelief: - "Who would wanna share a flat with me?"- he asked rhetorically, but was surprised to see that Mike seem to have an answer to that as he laughed.

"You are not the first one to say that to me today" - he answered to the unasked question putting his mobile away and standing up, knowing fully well what was going to happen next.

"Who's the first one?" - John asked curiously and stood besides his friend.

"Follow me and I'll show you" - the other man answered and started walking ahead knowing fully well how curious his friend was, he would follow.

They walked less than two block and wandered into St. Bartholomew's Hospital, John found it strange, since they had nothing to do in such a place, but followed his friend anyways.

On the empty and poorly lit hallways their steps resonated in an ominous manner, but John wasn't sure why he liked the sound.

"Right here John" - Mike said pulling him out of his thoughts and into a room with blinding white light. It was a lab and in between the clutter of everything that a lab should have was a slender tall man peering on a microscope.

"Mike, can I use your phone?"- the still unnamed mas asked not even bothering to look up.

"Sorry mate, ran out of battery. Try the land line?"- Mike said finding a seat next to the entrance, John trailing behind him.

"I prefer to text" - answered back the man and finally pulled back from the microscope and John finally saw his eyes; very strange, they were gray? No, perhaps blue? Or green?

"Here, use mine" - said John without much thought while pulling his mobile out of his front pocket and already extending it to the stranger. He noticed - not sure why he should, but he did - that the other man took the phone being offered without making any human contact whatsoever.

"He's an old friend of mine, John Watson"- Mike added as a knowing smirk played on his lips.

"Afghanistan or Irak?" - he asked offhandedly quickly texting whatever he needed to text and handing back the mobile just as quickly - again no touch, and why would John even want to feel the other man's skin on his.

"How did you know?" - John asked with a confused frown on his face; the man was still standing very close and his eyes were so close he could see them very clearly: - "heterochromia iridis" - John mumbled without realizing it.

The other man looked at little surprised and - dare John say it? - pleased with the interaction.

"I sometimes play the violin and keep to myself for days on an end, would that bother you?"- he said making his way back to the microscope were his coat, a black belfast, and his scarf: - "Also I'm quitting smoking, I can get rather cranky at times. Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other"- he added as he removed his belfast from the chair and started putting it on.

"Flatmates? Who said anything about flatmates?" -asked John turning to Mike: - "Did you talk to him about me?" - and Mike simply shook his head in the negative, with that quite annoying knowing smirk.

"I did, I mentioned Mike about how difficult it would be to find a flatmate and here he shows up with a friend of his who just made his way back from Afghanistan. It wasn't that hard to deduce"- he said in a long winded tirade while tying his scarf around his neck and buttoning his coat.

"How DID you know about Afghanistan?"- John asked a little peeved; this guy was getting on his nerves.

"I've got my eye on a nice little place near Central London, together we should be able to afford it. Let's meet there tomorrow evening around 7 o'clock. Sorry I gotta go, work calls."- he said passing John as he made his way to the exit of the room.

"Is that it?" - John asked more than a little upset now: - "We've only just met and we are gonna go look at a flat? We don't know a single thing about each other, I don't know where we are meeting or your name."- he added with that frown that was now becoming a regular feature on his face.

"I know you are a journalist that recently got back from Afghanistan. What do they call you? Yeah, war journalist"- the taller (because it was very obvious to John he had at least a couple of inches on him) man started his tirade: - "I know you have a brother who is willing to help you, but you won't go to him; maybe because he's an alcoholic, or maybe because he just walked out on his wife, maybe both" - he took a small pause and gave him a one over with his piercing eyes, but John didn't feel in the least bit exposed, if anything he found it… the word escaped him. But at least he wasn't the lonely fly in the wall nobody noticed, the man took a breath and continued: - "Your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite right I'm afraid"- and then his eyes landed straight on John's, and that did made him feel a bit naked: -"Enough for now I guess" - he added and made for the door handle, but paused once he had opened the door, half of his body already outside already and turned to John again: - "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 22iB Baker Street. Afternoon"- he said and for some unknown reason he winked.

And John stood there, not quite leaning against his cane, but not quite standing upright; Mike had said something along the lines of him always being like that, but John wasn't paying much attention.

When he walked into his place that evening he didn't even bothered to turn the light on and crossed the room in three long strides to his desk, were his laptop rested.

"Sherlock Holmes"- he said as he typed on the search engine,not quite sure why he needed to say it out loud, but it had somehow filled in the poignant silence of the darken room.

The light from his laptop screen illuminated the whole room as he clicked on the link for the page that read "The Science of Seduction".

The only other tab opened on his screen was his blog, still open at the new entry - as it had sat for the past three weeks - the cursor tauntingly blinking at him. It had been a suggestion from his therapist but… nothing ever happened to him anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

I normally don't have this much time, but since it's a weekend I thought as might as well do two chapters; but I'm abusy bee during the week so I don't think there'll be another update for at least a week...

Unless I get Tuesday off, which would be awesome!

So here it is, the second chapter. I'm not so sure how I feel about it so please comment on it...

 **So nothing ever happens to me?**

The next day went by rather quickly, at least to John it did. He rarely had anything to look forward to these days, so at least meeting with that strange man - Sherlock Holmes - again, gave him something to occupy his mind with.

If nothing else he wanted to, at least, ask him how he had figured out those things about him.

He wasn't a celebrity and his kidnapping back in Afghanistan had not received much attention; being honest he might have very easily been killed had it not been for an army Captain to whom he owed his life.

They had met when John had been following some of the soldiers around the barracks and was introduced to their commander: Major James Sholto.

But if it wasn't that, then what was it? How had this man figured out who he was? As much as he had asked Stamford the previous day, he had never mentioned John Watson to Holmes - they were not that kind of friends… well they were not even friends, not to Mike's understanding at least - and he really could not think of any other way this man had found out about him, it bothered him and made him want to know more about him.

As it was, he had made his way to Baker Street quite rapidly, even if he had made it there walking, and why had he chosen to walk was beyond him.

It was 10 to seven, so perhaps he could walk around a bit more, get to know the neighborhood. As he approached the place Mr. Holmes had indicated he saw that there was a small cafeteria right next to his destination, so maybe getting some coffee could be an option.

But no sooner had be identified the place a black cab parked right in front of the place and Sherlock Holmes was coming out of it, a big sincere - or at least John hoped it was sincere - smile plastered on his young face and a long extended arm holding out to him.

"Mr. Holmes"- John said as a greeting shaking the hand extended.

"Sherlock is fine" - and John hoped the other could not see the surprise in his face at the feeling of cold bonny fingers against his; he hadn't paid much attention to the other man's appearance, but he started noticing some things about the man he had not noticed on the blinding white light of the lab the previous day.

He certainly looked younger, though a lot more skinny than he had seemed yesterday. His black curly hair seemed unkempt, but John could tell some product had been applied to them, maybe he was going for that look? How old could he be? He gave him the impression of a chameleon, blending in with his surroundings and not showing quite a specific side of himself.

The door right in front of them was opened and an older lady walked out all smiles and love for Sherlock.

"Come on in, come on in" - she called them in as the held the door opened for both man,

Introductions were made, Mrs. Hudson and John Watson, and they made their way up into some very narrow and steep stairs - and John didn't want to say it out loud, but Hello! CANE! - and finally made into the second floor on a very cozy looking living room area.

"This could be nice"- John commented offhandedly while pacing around the area noticing all the boxes and clutter around the room: - "We would just need to get rid of this mess"- he added at the same time Sherlock stated he agreed and he had then decided to move in already.

At least he had the decency to look embarrassed about his mess and moved around the place trying to rearrange the scattered papers and knick knacks he had already set around.

It briefly crossed John's mind the question: Was he counting on him saying yes or was he expecting him to say no?

He couldn't quite vocalize his thoughts as Mrs. Hudson said: - "We have a bedroom upstairs, if you'll be needing two bedrooms" - as she moved towards the kitchen area: - "Sherlock, the mess you made!" - she reprimanded the other man in the room and John made a mental note to later on ask Sherlock why did she seem so familiar to him.

"Of course we'll be needing two bedrooms!"- he stated following her with his gaze around the small kitchen area; that comments just earned him a sly smirk from her and silence from Sherlock. What was he supposed to be assuming about his flatmate - he hadn't even said yes to the place and he was already calling him that?.

"I looked you up on the internet last night"- John stated quite bluntly, he had never been one for subtleties, being a journalist and all. He let himself sit down in the armchair closest to the kitchen, it was red and looked old, but it was rather comfortable actually.

"Any interesting?" - Sherlock asked, he was fishing for compliments, but kept his face as straight as he could.

"Found your blog. _The science of seduction"_ \- John merely stated but was sure Sherlock would ask anyways.

"And?"- the taller man asked, he was sure anyone could read him right now, but he needed to know.

John just made a face and it was not necessary to be an expert in body language to know that he meant he believed the page was okay but needed a little bit of work.

Sherlock's features gave away how disgruntled he felt, as if he was saying _What do you mean?_ And John's own expression answered the unasked question with a tilt of his head, as if saying _Really?._

"You said you could match any person in the world with their best possible match, mathematically speaking"- said John breaking silent conversation.

"And I can already tell you the name of 73 possible matches for you in a radius of 3 kilometers, interested?"- Sherlock added and John found his lopsided smirk kind of taunting.

"These 3 suicides have been all over the news Sherlock dear, what do you think?"- asked Mrs. Hudson walking in with a newspaper on her hands and absentmindedly placing it in the small side table next to the armchair John was now sitting on, successfully interrupting whatever he could have answered to Sherlock.

"Not suicides"- he stated matter of factly as he peered out the window into the street: - "And it's four Mrs. Hudson"- he added and turned to the stairs completely changing his demeanor, again reminding John of a chameleon.

"Four?" - he asked confused and was surprised to hear the hurried footsteps climbing the stairs.

"Where?" - Sherlock asked as soon as the man crossed the door without so much as a greeting; John recognized that face on Sherlock, it was the one he had shown the previous day when he had walked into the lab.

"Abandoned building near Lauriston Gardens, in Brixton"- asked the man who had just walked into the room, he looked agitated.

"What is different about this one?"- asked Sherlock, poker face completely on.

"We found the rings"- the other man, much more older John could tell because there was a little bit of gray on his sideburn, stated exhaling in defeat: - "Will you come?"- he asked already fidgeting to go back to work.

"Yes, but not in the police car. I'll follow, see you there"- Sherlock answered and the man quickly made his way out, but not without turning to see John with curiosity, but not really that curious to ask.

As soon as the front door was closed shut something very bizarre happened.

The composed facade fell and Sherlock was jumping excitedly and spinning around the room like a madman: - "Four serial suicides and now the rings! It's Christmas! I love being right!"- he said and quickly swirled around the place collecting his discarded scarf and coat : - "I'll be late, John make yourself at home. Don't wait up" - he added while making his way to the kitchen and grabbing his gloves from the table and dashing to the door.

"He's always like that. I'll make you some tea, you rest your leg" - Mrs. Hudson said as soon as Sherlock left the room and made her way down the stairs towards her own place.

John was a bit confused and - dare he say it - upset; something he didn't quite understand but could deduce was important had just happened and he was completely off the loop…

He grabbed for the newspaper that laid forgotten near his armchair - why did he considered his already? - were the news report of the latest suicide was being reported, quite sensationalist really, he would have done it quite differently, a bit more tasteful; and maybe because he was too engrossed in the mechanics of the grammatical structure of the article he didn't hear the footsteps that were making their way up the stairs.

"So you are an army journalist?"- Sherlock said and it sounded more like a statement than a question but John still felt the need to answer it: - "Any good?"- and this time it was indeed a question, but Sherlock already knew the answer by the way John stance became taller: - "You've seen a lot violence and the such"- he added and noticed a glint in John's eyes.

"Yes, for a lifetime far too much"- answered John but something in his poise and the way his lips were tight in a line hinted Sherlock to something else.

"Wanna see more?"- Sherlock asked and even if it was indeed a question, they both knew it was a rhetorical one.

"Oh god yes"- whispered John and they both made their way down the stairs and John forgot to limp on his way down: - "Sorry Mrs. Hudson I'll skip the tea, I'm heading out"- he said already adjusting his jacket and checking he had his phone on his pocket.

"Both of you?"- she asked emerging from her small place and smiling as she saw them making their way to the front door.

Sherlock just turned to her and winked - John was getting quite accustomed to that - and made his way out hailing a cab as soon as he stepped out.

In the cab they drove John looked out to see darkness had settled in, it wasn't that late, but it seemed it was always dark and cold in London. A silence had settled in and the journalist could tell Sherlock was able to sense his discomfort, but was choosing not to comment, but then…

"You have questions, go ahead" - Sherlock said finally giving a sideway glance to John.

"Where are we going?"- he asked first, though it wasn't the real question he wanted to ask.

"Crime scene, next"- Sherlock answered nonchalantly.

"Who are you? What do you do?" John asked finally turning towards Sherlock and inadvertently pushing him to do the same.

"What do you think?"- the other man asked still trying to maintain the mystery, but John was having none of that.

"Don't give me that bullshit"- John answered with a clip controlled tone, the tone he always used when interview difficult people: - "You are a psychiatrist and specialize in the _affairs of love_ , but why are we driving to a crime scene?"- he said and he was very conscious his body language was trying to be intimidating, but he knew Sherlock would not be intimidated by him.

"I consult"- Sherlock answered briefly and made to turn to continue gazing outside the passing streets, but John made sure he didn't.

"The police doesn't use amateur consultants"- there, John had set the bait; he might not be a super genius at reading people, but he knew how to play things to his advantage.

"Yesterday I asked you Afghanistan or Iraq. I didn't guess, I saw. You were introduced as a friend of Stamford, a journalist, so you must be a journalist. But your posture is too straight and composed to be just a regular journalist; your face is not well known, but you are proud of what you write. So what kind of journalist writes great articles yet nobody knows about him? War journalist. You had to had been in a war recently, your skin is tan but not below the wrists, which means you were not on a holiday. You are not prone on human contact, but crave it, as I noticed when you handed me your phone, which means you were deprived of it for a very long time and not under pleasurable circumstances; so must have been held against your will. And for all of those conditions to happen at the same time, it had to be war, it had to be recent. So Afghanistan or Iraq"- Sherlock had a smirk plastered on his face as he held eye contact during all of his tirade: - "And there's your brother. You have a high tech gadget, but unemployed if you are looking for a flatshare, someone tight on money would not buy a phone like that, so a gift. Previously own by the scratches and mark on the sides, you would never treat your phone like that. The next bit is easy, the engraving _Harry Watson_ , clearly a family member, this is a young man's gadget, so a cousin or a brother, but you can't find a place to live, which implies a lack of extended family so brother it is. Now Clara? Who is Clara? Clearly a romantic gift, but a girlfriend wouldn't give such an expensive gift, so he's given it away so trouble in paradise. If she had left him we would have kept it, but he walked out. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants to stay in touch, but you looking for a cheap place mean you won't rely on him, means you have issues with him, you liked his wife, you didn't like his drinking"- he said looking smug about his words, knowing he was very likely right.

"How could you know about the drinking?"- John asked, if he was going to be read like a book, at least he wanted to know how he did it.

"There's scratches on the power conexion, whenever he would plug it to charge he would miss the place, unsteady shaky hands, you never see these marks on a sober man's phone"- Sherlock ended his tirade finally looking out the windows, feeling very confident he had answered all the questions John could have.

"That was extraordinary!" - John exclaimed and had he been paying closer attention to Sherlock's reflection on the taxi window he would have seen a sincere smile on Sherlock's face: - "But that brings me to my next question"-he added and Sherlock should have known better, this man was a journalist after all, he needed to know all the answers (this could be counter productive): - "You specialize in solving matters of the heart yet we are heading to crime scene. Why?"- he asked.

"It's a little bit of a hobby of mine. I would appreciate if you didn't mention it to anybody, I dislike the unwanted attention this could bring on me… and well, now on you too"- he added while indicating the taxi driver they were to be dropped off at the next corner.

It hit John like a bucket of cold water, of course it would be an issue, he was now part of it too!

Oh well, at least something was finally happening to him, he thought as he exited the car and followed Sherlock into the unknown.


	3. Chapter 3

I got the day off! This is awesome! I hardly ever get the day off so it was rather amazing to get the day off; it's very relaxing to sit here in bed and write fanfiction while watching TJLC theories.

Yeah that's life!

As it is I don't think I'll have another chapter for another couple of day... or maybe yes I don't know, this is really mind consuming I sort of just wanna get it out of my system.

So here it is, chapter 3.

 **Woman are not really his area**

A month had gone by rather quickly, and John had unfortunately learnt many a things about his flatmate.

On that fated first night they had gone " _crime solving"_ he found Sherlock was not very well liked, maybe because of his very obvious ability to be able to read someone like a book - being honest it did irk John a bit as well, but he mostly liked it; even if some times some of the mean comments were directed to him - while being obnoxious about it.

On that first night he had been advised to stay away from Sherlock; he had also met his weird brother and had chased after a murderer through the streets of London.

His cane had been replaced with a steady firm walk to keep up with Sherlock's long strides - he waited for no one, but he had a slight suspicion he had been walking slower the past couple of times - all signs of his psychosomatic limp gone.

As it turned out the murderer had been a righteous cabbie who had been cheated on by his wife and had taken away custody from his children. He had taken every precautions to make it look like suicides and he had almost gotten to Sherlock. He felt it was like a punishment, though why he would feel compelled to punish Sherlock it was beyond John.

They didn't talk about that much…

John had fired a gun, a very illegal one, and he certainly was thankful Sherlock had never asked how he came to have it, and he had killed a man.

He should have felt some sort of remorse, but he had witness so much death, he had even had had to take a life himself, because when the time came, if it was a matter of live or die, he would always choose to live; he wanted to chalk it up to PTSD, but he knew it wasn't like that.

Sherlock had implied it after the case had been solved, but he had never stated it; and John found that a little weird, but didn't feel like questioning his good luck.

He had also found out over dinner with Sherlock that ladies were not "his area", he wasn't sure boyfriends were either and to be honest he was starting to believe Sherlock fell more onto the asexual spectrum of sexuality, if any at all.

Something had changed definitely, he now had so much going on in his life, finally something happened… but he wasn't sure he could write about it, he would have to ask Sherlock, but the time never came.

He knew he couldn't tell about the murderer, though he had secretly typed it on his laptop and had it saved under the name "A study in pink", even if only for his reading pleasure.

After that had been solved, he sort of expected to see more of that police action, but a couple days later no police car appeared on their doorstep and Sherlock seemed to be okay with it.

However after a little bit over 3 weeks, John started feeling a bit stagnant in that locked up place.

That is until a client appeared…

John knew Sherlock was more known for his dating advice, but he just couldn't picture the younger male giving any kind of advice that involved interaction with other human beings.

However when a lovely lady had walked in asking for help find her _soulmate_ he had seen a Sherlock he didn't know existed.

Sure it was still Sherlock Holmes aloof and distant, but he seemed more of something else John couldn't quite put his finger on.

What surprised him the most about this particular case was the client; she was beautiful, long wavy hair and deep blue eyes, impeccable image as well, well dressed (very expensive brands) and perfect makeup, long slender legs, the perfect body line and an air of royalty about her. He could tell she was not only well educated (very likely the best schools), but she must have had a very good employment situation judging by the way she dressed and conducted herself.

"I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes"- she stated after crossing the threshold of the door.

John had been on his way to the kitchen to make himself some tea.

"Please come on in"- Sherlock answered from his leather couch.

John wasn't sure if he should leave or stay in the room, offer some tea perhaps…

The beautiful woman made her way over to John's chair, but as she was about to sit on it, Sherlock pulled out a nearby chair and indicated with his hand that this was her seat.

"John, tea please if you wouldn't mind"- Sherlock said as she sat herself down in the worn out chair, not sure why she was not being offered the better and more comfortable chair.

"My partner seats there, you see. So how may we help you?"- said the younger male, answering all the question that were flying about in the room.

John smirked despite himself as he rummage in the cupboard for a third mug.

Her situation was unusual, or so it seemed to John - later Sherlock would explain it's far more common that he would believe - as she had a lot of trouble finding a suitable companion, men seemed to be intimidated by her, though John could not see it - a fact that Sherlock found very interesting about John's personality - and as beautiful as she was she was simply nearing her forties and with no prospects. Some people wouldn't mind, but she had envisioned herself as a married woman, one or two children and a lovely house in the suburbs with a pet in the back yard - John could empathize with her on that.

"Good, I'll contact you as soon as we find a suitable match"- Sherlock said as he place his now empty cup on the coffee table nearest to him.

"Like that, you will not ask me anything? What kind of man am I looking for?"- the woman, her name was Sarah, asked surprised and confused following the consultant as he paced around the room.

Sherlock stopped by the window and peeked out, the sun was starting to set; he turned towards her and he had that face, that face that had become so familiar to John, and he couldn't help himself to smirk knowingly, he knew what was coming.

"I know you value your work more than you value people, your partner should be able to understand that, right?" - Sherlock said still standing on his spot by the window, she seemed pleased with the answer, and John was sure was about to compliment his ability when he started talking again: - "But not really. You want him or her to be able to say no. Now don't give me that look we all know you have gone there"- he said with a smirk when he saw she had a surprised look on her face: - "You wouldn't terribly mind if it was a lady. But we'll let you decide when the time comes. We should be looking for someone that wanders through life without much of a plan so they can accommodate to you, since you will never accommodate to them"- he added while taking a couple of steps towards her, but not quite reaching her, not yet: - "They would need to be clingy, you like to be needed, but don't we all? And they need to be able to plan for the future"- he finished by her side and he placed a blank piece of paper with a pen on her lap: - "But if it makes you feel more comfortable, please write down the same profile you have been writing on every single dating web site; I'm sure it has worked before"- and the all knowing smirk was plastered in his face again.

"amazing…"- John whispered and it was as if the spell has been broken and Sherlock Holmes, dating consultant, was no longer in the room; the green eyes - today Sherlock was wearing a shirt that made his eyes look green - showed some kind of emotion John had not seen in the younger male before.

Sarah, the client, looked between the two and then Sherlock was reminded of his role in this moment.

"So how will it be?" - he said now directing his attention back to the woman, making sure to store this in his mind for further analysis.

"Let's try your way then"- she answered already standing and making her way to the door, and then she turned and handed Sherlock a card: - "Contact me here"- she said and made his way out without even glancing at John.

"Well that was interesting"- said John as an afterthought when he heard the front door close which earned him a curious look from Sherlock, not quite a smile, not a smirk either, something completely Sherlock he guessed.

The next day he had been woken up rather abruptly by a knock on his bedroom door.

"John get dressed. We are going jogging" - Sherlock said and before John could finish processing the sentence and even utter a response the other was already making his way down the stairs again with a shout of _Hurry up!_ coming from somewhere near the kitchen.

He wasn't much of a morning person and to be honest he thought neither was Sherlock, but was surprised to find him already dressed and in complete running attire.

"What is this about?"- John asked still trying to shake off the sleep from his head. He had never really had a running attire, so just some baggy pants and his trainers would have to do.

"The job, we are finding a match for Sarah"- Sherlock excitedly, to John he looked like a small child on Christmas morning.

"This is strange. Why do you seem so excited to be helping someone find happiness?"- John asked as he put on his jacket and a scarf, it was sure to be very cold out.

"Is not about happiness John, is about finding patterns, predictability. I love finding the patterns, the comfort of certainty"- Sherlock answered already making his way down the stairs and John wasn't sure that was something to be excited and happy about, but if it made him happy so be it. He would have never pegged the younger man for someone that needed to find comfort in such things… Had his life been so unpredictable that he now desperately seeked the foreseeable?

"Out so early?"- John heard the voice of their tenant, Mrs. Hudson, near the door.

"Yes Mrs. Hudson, the game is on"- Sherlock said with a smirk while making his way out.

It was indeed very cold out, but Sherlock either didn't care or prefered not the comment about it, though John could not understand how since he was wearing a very thin sweatshirt and a windbreaker only.

They walked a couple of block into Regent Park and John was surprised to see how many people were out jogging this early in the morning.

Sherlock and John walked around the area looking about, but then Sherlock suddenly stopped without John noticing causing him to bump into him.

"What…"- but before he could ask anything he was greeted with a strange sight; Sherlock was stretching, his leg extended resting on one of the benches of the park. For some reason John couldn't help but notice how very long that leg was, so long… and then he noticed Sherlock's gray - they were gray today - eyes staring at him: - "Sorry"- said John hurriedly looking away though he wasn't sure why he apologized for.

"Hello"- they heard a male voice and when John turned he found a young male, probably no more than 30 - how old was Sherlock? Was he closer to this guy's age than his own? He was definitely older than him, but… and why the bloody hell was he pondering about this right now?! - with an athletic build and a sincere smile on his lips.

"Hello"- answered John returning the smile and when he turned to Sherlock he noticed a frown on his features.

"You guys are new to the neighborhood? I don't think I have ever seen you around here" - the man started making small talk and Sherlock seemed even more uncomfortable; wasn't he supposed to be here because they were looking for a match for Sarah? This guy looked like the perfect match.

"Yeah, we just moved a couple of block from here"- answered John deciding that if Sherlock was not going to do any work he might as well take it from there.

"Oh so like you two together?"- the man asked and started stretching as well and John didn't realize when did Sherlock stopped stretching and positioned himself right behind him, a little too close for comfort.

"Yes"- Sherlock simply stated and placed his hand on John's left shoulder; had he turned he would have seen a polite smile on Sherlock.

"Well hope to see you guys around then"- the man said seemingly a little put off as he pulled his headphones out and walking away as he put them on.

"What was that about Sherlock? The guy was perfect for Sarah, why did you scare him off?" - John stated and found himself rather surprised at not having realized Sherlock's hand was still on his shoulder even after a silence had settled in… Maybe Sherlock was right, maybe he did crave human contact.

"I'm pretty sure he was not her type"- Sherlock said, finally removing his hand for John's shoulder but still very close to him: - "Or more like she would not be his type"- he added with that knowing smirk that was starting to get on John's nerves.

"What do you mean?"- John asked and started following Sherlock who had started jogging towards a more busy area of the park.

"Well I don't think women are really his area"- the younger of the two answered and John stopped dead in his track, understanding the implications and had Sherlock just admitted to being gay himself?... - "Come on John, do catch up"- Sherlock called after him, not even bothering to check if he was coming, because he knew very well that John would follow.


	4. Chapter 4

Well, it turns out I didn't have that much work this week so I got to work on my fic.

I'm not sure if I like the characters, they feel a bit off, don't you think?

Well here it is, the 4th chapter

 **On being a lightweight**

As it turned out none of the people they had met while jogging about had been, according to Sherlock, any match for Sarah, and they had been jogging for over 2 hours.

When they reached Baker Street again they were soaked in sweat and had nothing to prove for their hard work that morning.

"Such a wasted morning!"- Sherlock said frustrated as he made his way up the stairs, already removing the windbreaker and light sweatshirt, leaving him on a flimsy t-shit that stuck to his body - and what a moment to be noticing this! - while his normally well kept curly hair stuck to his scalp, a sight for sore eyes really, John could admit to that, and he knew quite a bit of the ladies around the park had agreed: - "Is impossible to take you on these things if you are gonna be stealing all the spotlight! We are supposed to be looking for a match for Sarah, not for you!"- Sherlock expressed with frustration as he threw in whatever direction the items of clothing he had discarded.

"ME!?"- John half asked half yelled: - "Look at you! You are the sex god that kept drawing all the attention to himself!"- and once the words had left his mouth he wished he had not said them.

Sherlock turned to him with a surprised look, his t-shirt halfway off and the door to the bathroom already open. John made an attempt at correcting himself, maybe say something, but as much as he knew he had all the words in the world at his disposition none of them came to mind right now.

"I'm in no manner what people would consider a sex god John"- Sherlock stated matter of factly in a very composed manner, at least that's what his voice said, but not really his posture… he felt exposed…

John had to stop himself from explaining how indeed Sherlock was very much a sex god and instead just settled for a a sigh: - "Just take your shower, I wanna shower too"- he simply said and walked up to his room.

Sherlock stayed there by the bathroom door until he heard the upstairs bedroom door close lightly and the he allowed himself a little bit of confusion to wash over his features. Work! Work! He reminded himself and went about his shower as usual.

Sherlock spent the majority of the morning sitting down in what John had dubbed as the Thinking pose, his long big hands joined together resting in his chin and covering his mouth; when Sherlock had said he could go days on end with no word he wasn't joking.

Sometime around noon Sherlock had stood from his seating position and seemed to just notice John was back in the room, sitting in the chair right in front of his.

John acknowledge his come back from wherever he went to think with a question he had been itching to ask all morning: - "Now what?"- he said measuring Sherlock's reaction.

"We should go to a nightclub"- he stated matter of factly making his way to the kitchen and opening the fridge to find nothing on it: - "We need milk"- he said closing the door and heading for one of the cupboards.

John wasn't aware he had a confused look until Sherlock pointed it out when he came back into the living room with a box of chocolate biscuits.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to"- Sherlock said and found his way to the three seater couch letting himself fall rather dramatically on it.

"I don't think you would know how to behave on such a place"- John said smirking and opened his laptop, it was opened on his blog, the new entry page with the cursor still tauntingly blinking at him: - "I'll go, it should be fun"- he added and he missed the childish pout Sherlock had on his face.

They walked into a dark and loud dancing club at around 9pm later that night; Sherlock couldn't quite recognize the song and felt rather claustrophobic to be honest, John on the other hand moved around the place as if he had been there before - Sherlock stored away that question for later - and found their way somewhere near the bar.

"No, we don't drink, alcohol makes for too much stupid"- stated the younger of the two and that earned him a look from John.

"That would make you look like a creep Sherlock"- John stated and saw how Sherlock rolled his eyes in defeat.

"I'll just have a soda, get whatever you want; just don't get drunk I won't carry you home"- said Sherlock handing John his wallet - and what a weird thing to do - and making his way to a corner table on the very back of the place.

John smirked and ordered a beer for himself and was about to order a soda for Sherlock, but thought about it for a second, he asked the bartender to just add a shot of tequila on the coke he was bringing his flatmate, it was important Sherlock looked a little bit normal… though John wasn't sure why he thought alcohol would make him more normal.

"Here"- John said placing the drink in front of Sherlock while making a once over of the place, which is why he missed the look Sherlock gave him - he knew the drink had alcohol - but decided to take it anyways.

"So how do we go about this?"- asked John sitting himself next to Sherlock, only briefly noticing he was very close to him, their thighs were touching, but if the other male didn't seem bothered by it then whatever.

"Observe"- Sherlock said and downed in one go the rest of the contents of his drink.

John considered telling him to go slowly, but if he did he would have to explain to Sherlock he had asked for alcohol on his drink so he decided he would keep this a secret from him.

Before John could realize it their table had been flooded with a large crowd, there were a couple of empty bottles of different brands and liquors - when had they gotten Vodka? Oh yeah Sherlock came back with it after his third trip to the bathroom - and John was sure he was not going to enjoy the hangover the next day.

"Come on John, dance with us!" - Sherlock yelled over the loud techno music playing on the background.

He looked debauched and he knew it. His blue eyes - black always made his eyes look blue - had dilated pupils, his hair was messy but he made it work, and the two first buttons of his black dress shirt had come undone. John wasn't sure if his flatmate was aware of this.

He made to stand but stumbled a little.

"What a lightweight" - Sherlock said mockingly but made sure John was standing upright and balanced before letting him go - that's when John realized Sherlock's hand had been on his neck: - "Remember John we are working. Keep it together" - he whispered to the older male and that's when John realized he had yet to let go of Sherlock - and how has his hand found purchased in the space where there was no fabric covering Sherlock's chest?

The rest of the night felt like a little bit of a blur for John, images of Sherlock dancing on the table. Someone's hand on his lower back, just another drink, loud music, blaring lights, laughter and blue, blue, blue eyes.

He woke up to the bothersome ray of sunlight filtering from his window, which indicated it was well past 10am; making his way stumbling down the staircase he found it strange there was not a single sound coming from below, which is why it took him by surprised when he found Sherlock sitting in the living room floor surrounded by photos and a couple of laptops opened on Facebook.

"What are you doing?"- John asked noticing how rough his voice sounded, he must have yelled a lot last night.

"Have some tea John, you look trashed"- was Sherlock's answer as he continued to type away from one computer to the other, taking the photos and making annotation on them

"What that hell is all of that for?"- John asked again, hoping that this time he got an answer, as he made his way to the kitchen to set up some water to boil.

"Finding all the perfect matches for Sarah of course"- Sherlock answered from his place on the floor still typing away.

"How are you not absolutely trashed?"- John asked poking his head into the living room area and Sherlock finally stopped writing and looked up to John.

"I didn't drink much, unlike you John; you had 6 beers, 3 shot of tequila and a couple of mixed drinks that I do not know where they came from"- he answered with a straight face.

"You were dancing with strangers… and being all nice and friendly, what was that all about?"- John said now leaning on the frame of the entrance to the kitchen.

"Acting John, I'll do what I have to do for the work"- Sherlock answered and finally made to stand up from his place, making sure to close all the laptops he had open: - "Your presence was very helpful John, but maybe a little bit less alcohol next time"- he added as he passed John on his way to the kitchen.

John was confused by the conversation and waaaay to hungover to really care, so he just let it slip and made his way to the boiling water, he would drink some very strong tea.

Coming back into the living room with a strong tea on his hand he finally noticed how disgustingly dirty and unarranged was their flat; sure Sherlock was very good at keeping his stuff in a relative orderly chaos, but this was beyond that.

"The house needs cleaning"- John said out loud hoping Sherlock would catch the drift and clean his mess.

"Indeed, and I have laundry. Let's go" - Sherlock came out of his room with a large duffle bag on his hand.

"Where?"- John asked, but somehow deep inside he knew that was not the question he should be asking, but something along the lines of WHY?! Was a little bit more appropriate.

"A laundromat of course, perfect place to find more suitable matches"- Sherlock said with an open smile on his face.

"I'm not sure why anyone should be happy about doing the laundry"- John said as he made to stand up: - "I'll get some laundry"- he added not quite sure why he was saying yes to this, he had a terrible hangover, he should be looking and applying for jobs; but as he made his way downstairs with his own laundry in a bag, the sigh of a giddy Sherlock by the door made him smile and forget about it. He could always look for a job when he got back, at least that's he had been telling himself the past couple of weeks.

They walked for a couple of blocks and it looked like Sherlock knew where he was going so John just followed, feeling quite tired and grumpy but keeping it to himself.

The place they arrived to was rather crowded - which right now really bothered John, but he understood it was actually the point - and they had to sit and wait for a washing machine to become available.

While they waited, Sherlock disappeared for a while; John assumed he had gone to mingle, but was surprised when he came back with a cup of black coffee from the machine near the entrance.

John was surprised at the gesture, after living with the man for a month he was absolutely convinced it was physically impossible for Sherlock to do anything for another human being without expecting to obtain something in return… oh! Of course! Sherlock was going to ask him to do something for him.

"What is it?" - asked John feeling a little hurt at believing for a moment that Sherlock would consider him a friend.

"What is what?" - Sherlock showed genuine confusion in his eyes: - "I'm just giving you coffee because you are hungover" - he stated and John saw something that could be described as hurt show in his gray - today they looked gray - eyes.

They sat there looking at each other for a bit longer than was normally accepted. It was Sherlock the one that looked away first, but John felt like the younger male had something to say.

"Do you remember last night at all?" - the younger of the two asked his eyes glued to the magazine rack in front of them.

"I don't, should I be?" - John asked and really wanted Sherlock to look him straight in the eye right now.

"That washing machine is free now, let's go" - Sherlock answered completely deflecting John's question while walking away.

John sighed in defeat, it was impossible for him to read Sherlock Holmes.

"Don't mix colors" - he said as he started tossing his clothes in the same machine Sherlock was using: - "I don't wanna end up with pink trousers" - he added moving Sherlock aside, not even bothering to ponder how had his hand found purchase on Sherlock's coat pocket fishing for some coins for the machine, he knew the other wouldn't mind one bit


	5. Chapter 5

So here it is the 5th chapter, I have been reading soooo much fanfiction lately is crazy! Maybe the reason as to why his is so short hahaha

I might or might not work on the 6th chapter during the weekend, since I have been invited to the beach!

So a friend of mine asked me what I thought made greatness, and the conversation got me thinking on that... maybe i'll explore on that concept here if anyone is willing to expose what they think makes greatness

 **On being friends... or not**

They met a couple of people, mostly women, very attractive women.

John had actually gotten a phone number from one of the ladies at the place and was very aware that Sherlock was fuming over it and kept reminding him they were there to find a match for Sarah not himself.

"Besides she's not even good for you" - Sherlock had stated matter of factly while opening the fridge and placing inside the milk and various other items that he had bought on their way back from the supermarket, making sure to move one of his molding experiments to the very back of the fridge.

"What do you mean she's not my type? She's exactly my type, that's the kind of girl I always go for" - John answered storing away in the pantry some of their food.

"And you wonder why you've never been on a relationship for longer than a couple of weeks…" -Sherlock answered making his way back into the living room and picking up the scattered papers that were lying around. And how in the hell did Sherlock know he never had very serious relationships? He could not possibly read that about him, could he …?

"What is wrong with that type?" - John asked following Sherlock with his gaze, but making sure he stayed where he was, Sherlock had his methods of orderly chaos and John was not to mess with them.

"I'm not gonna give you a dating consultation" - said Sherlock stopping dead on his tracks searching John's eyes for some kind of answer, though what that answer might be he wasn't sure.

"I'm not asking for one" - John said defensively: - "I'm asking you as a … friend, not as a dating consultant"- He had felt slightly unsure of phrasing it that way, but once the word came out he felt at ease, almost as if a weight had been removed from his shoulders. Everybody kept telling him Sherlock had no friends and he simply wasn't one for those kind of sentiments, but now that he had stated it he felt he could at least know for sure, if he was indeed Sherlock's friend or not.

Sherlock looked at him for a couple of seconds, every thought John could think off passed his mind, and then: - "Well as a friend I think you should do whatever you wanna do"- he answered and continued on as if nothing had happened, as if he had not just admitted to John being his friend.

John smiled despite himself and he didn't fail to notice Sherlock's lopsided smirk.

"You need help with that?"- John asked and took a step towards Sherlock, but gave him the benefit of still saying no.

"How about you make dinner?"- Sherlock said making some sense of the papers he had in his hands, John couldn't tell what that might be: - "If I try you know I'll burn the kitchen"- he added his back to John, and the older suspected it was because he was smirking, the bastard.

He just sighed in defeat, for somehow he knew he would always end up doing what Sherlock wanted him to do - though he would never admit to that out loud - and made his way to the fridge: - "Chicken sounds good?"- he asked and only received a grunt from the living room, and as always he came to assume that meant yes.

It was odd, John thought, the way their living arrangement - and their friendship - had developed, he had killed a man for him, and yet why? He knew nothing about him, other than he was an eccentric and selfish little prick, he was impossible to live with - for most people of course - and had a large disregard for other people's needs, he hardly ever ate much of anything, in terms of sleeping patterns he was beyond messed up and he had close to cero people's skill (except for when he wanted to obtain something); he often felt like Sherlock pictured himself as if he walked as a giant amongst tiny little ants, being completely honest he had always felt like a tiny little ant himself, but today he would savor the small little moments in which Sherlock Holmes stopped and looked down at the tiny little ant that John was and regarded its existence.

John managed to make Sherlock eat a decent amount of chicken, but the veggies were left untouched until John warned him he had Mycroft's - Sherlock's older brother - number and he would not hesitate to use it, then Sherlock grumpily ate them.

It was so bizarre, for both of them - though none would admit - this familiar and normal setting, it was so domestic… it was a little scary, not because they had not had normal family lives, but because they had never had them with someone that wasn't force to be nice to them.

"Are you gonna call her?"- asked Sherlock once they had found their way back into the living room. He was typing on his laptop while John watched crap telly.

"I don't know" - John answered sincerely, when he had asked for the woman's number had had thought it was a good idea, but somehow it didn't seem like it anymore.

"Don't do that. Don't take my words and build around them, who knows maybe I'm wrong and maybe she's right for you after all"- Sherlock said still seemingly preoccupied with whatever he was doing in his laptop.

John stared and Sherlock, not sure why he was looking at him so intently, thinking of a list of probable reasons that ranged from feeling angry at him for ruining a possible date with a lovely lady to feeling absolutely frustrated at the fact that John was having a moment over here and Sherlock didn't even turn to look him in the eyes.

"John really if you want a dating consultation, just ask. But you'll have to pay the fees, I never…" - but Sherlock couldn't finish his sentence, because as he was busily typing away he failed to notice John angrily approaching him with long determined strides.

"At least look at me in the eye when you are berating me, would you!"- John yelled and was surprised to see how composed Sherlock seemed at his outburst; he did turn to see him, stopping his typing momentarily.

"Did you stay because of the criminal case?"- Sherlock asked, but John knew right then he already knew the answer, and it bothered him so much; he couldn't hide any kind of information from his flatmate, where was his privacy? Where was his right to not say stuff?: - "because if you did, you stayed because of the wrong reason" - he added nonchalantly, as if was not having what seemed to John like a very important conversation.

"Stop fucking reading me Sherlock!"- John could feel his self control slipping away and he wasn't even sure why. Why was he suddenly feeling so angry at his flatmate? Sure it was annoying that he kept on constantly reading everything about him without even bothering to ask, but it was more than that. He now realized he was upset because he really didn't know much about Sherlock; he couldn't read people like the younger male could, so he really didn't know anything about the other, and he constantly felt he could ask him anything, while the other simply snooped around his life like it was out for public display: - "You never leave anything just for me! You just read everything!"- John was aware he was yelling quite loudly, maybe Hrs. Hudson would come up to shush them up.

"I don't know everything John"- Sherlock stated matter of factly and stood from his chair, but not even the almost 8cm he had on height advantage made him feel any less like a child being scolded for doing something he shouldn't have. He understood his abilities would be bothersome to some, but he had hoped they wouldn't be for John.

"Oh no, you don't!"- John said still yelling while he scrambled to remove his jumper and unbutton his shirt, when had finally removed all his upper body garments he looked at Sherlock straight in the eye: - "There! See! Read everything! I cannot even keep this!"- he said and he thought he heard the door of Mrs. Hudson downstairs open.

"John please…"- Sherlock said and his voice sounded too small, too broken and unsure even to himself, he wasn't sure why he hadn't just punched John, kick him out of the house and continue living alone, he could easily afford this place on his own.

For some reason John didn't liked it when Sherlock looked away, and as if to bring him back he pulled one of Sherlock's hand and placed it on his left shoulder, just above his heart, where he had the most obvious evidence of his survival of Afghanistan, of what had happened to him, of his life: - "Here" Read it" What does it say about me?"- John voice had somehow become a whisper and that scared Sherlock even more.

"I don't wanna read you… I want you to tell me yourself, when you want to tell, under the conditions you want for it… that's what friends do, right?"- the taller man said with such a fragile voice, but his face was devoid of all emotion, it confused John terribly.

"Boys could you… Oh Lord!"- Mrs. Hudson walked into their place at the most inconvenient moment of them all.

Sherlock's hand was resting flat on John's left side of his chest - and he noticed how fast the older man's heart seemed to be beating - which was very much exposed - even if Sherlock wanted to, he couldn't have stopped himself from dissecting and storing away in his memory all the elements that made this moment, the feeling of John's skin, the warmth, the heartbeat, John dilated pupils, his own elaborated breathing - after John had taken off his shirt.

"If you are going to do that at least lock the door"- They heard her say, but their eyes were glued to each other.

The words that had come out of Sherlock felt too emotional, for the both of them.

This time it was John the one that turned away, looking at the door that had been closed by Mrs. Hudson, the words and the implications dawning on him: - "People will talk" - he said more to himself than to Sherlock, but he was sure the other had heard him.

"About what?"- Sherlock asked confused, not quite understanding John train of thought.

John just turned to him with a death glare on his eyes and had he said anything it would have been something along the lines of _Really?!_ He glared at Sherlock's hand hoping that would be explanation enough - he had come to understand in the brief month they had shared as flatmates that as intelligent as he was, sometimes Sherlock wasn't that good at reading human situation that were not literal.

"You did put my hand there you know"- Sherlock said and his hand was still on John's chest and why was nobody moving away or doing something or saying something.

A police siren could be heard from afar outside into the real world, and that's all the motivation John needed to pull back from the touch, grab his things and without saying much make his way upstairs to his room.

Sherlock stood there looking at the empty space where John had just been; his hand, normally cold, now felt very warm and tingly and it was making him very confused.

He sighed and as soon as the air left his lips so did his concern with this matter, he wasn't supposed to be distracting himself with sentiments and the such, he had a case, a client, and he had to work on finding her a match… but as he sat in front of the laptop he realized, maybe getting a flatmate had not been that good of an idea after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Friday is finally here! There's so much work piling up and life is catching up with me lately, some personal matters seem to be taking precedence and stuff, but this is important for me, so I'll see it through…

Hopefully I can find some time to work on another chapter, but I can't promise anything; however after the 5th of december I'll be all dedicated to this!

 **Silences and stares**

The next morning John woke up to find the apartment rather empty; no typing, so scattered papers, no jogging or doing laundry, and more importantly, no sign of Sherlock in the place.

John pondered over the passing idea that this might be one of Sherlock's infamous hissy fits his older brother had warned him about…

 _Their first fight…_

It was a rather silly concept really since first times were not something someone his age had a lot of lately in his life. It seemed Sherlock made everything differently.

The living room area had not been cleaned, which was rare since Sherlock always made it a case to leave it clean for the morning if he stayed up in there… maybe he was still in the flat; most certainly not on the loo, since the door was wide open and no sign of anyone in there.

The door to Sherlock's room was slightly ajar, maybe he was sleeping? He could not hear anything though, so he called his name and no answer came, he tried again a little louder and when yet again no response came he was about to give it up when he pushed the door open and he saw Sherlock sprawled on his bed.

Sure, during his month sharing a living space with the younger man he had never seen him actually sleeping, so he had no way of knowing if this was how he usually slept - also he had actually never seen this room on the inside - or if he had just passed out…

John looked intently at the other stilled form, he really looked, and noticed he could not really perceive the natural movement of breathing.

"Sherlock?" - John called out to the other male, not quite forcefully, but not quite gentle either, he noticed his voice had sound worried to him.

Nothing happened and then John felt something warm, hot, raise from the pit of his stomach as he closed in on Sherlock's sleeping form (was he sleeping? How could someone sleep like that? So deeply asleep at this hour?) and shook his shoulder, calling his name again, and again, and again.

John wasn't aware how many times he had called Sherlock's name and with how much urgency and strength he had been shaking his shoulder until he heard a voice behind him telling him he would take over.

The journalist felt himself be pulled back and he wasn't very well aware what was happening; Mycroft - Sherlock's brother - was there and he had been accompanied by a man with latex gloves and has Sherlock always been that pale? He doesn't look like he's breathing, is he breathing?

Something like an hour later - or maybe three, or four or three days, or seven months - the man with the latex gloves - a doctor - comes out of Sherlock's room and walks to the door where Sherlock's brother - who the hell names their son Mycroft? - talks to him in whispers and John doesn't feel like listening to them so he goes into the room without bothering to ask if he can. Sherlock is awake - as awake as someone that almost overdosed just a couple of hours ago on sleeping pills can be - and his grey eyes - his bed sheets are white so they look grey right now - look directly at him when he walks in.

"I'm not suicidal or anything, if that's what you're wondering"- Sherlock slurs with a very raspy voice and his eyes are glued to John's.

"What was that all about then?"- John asks and he cannot help to feel like he's interviewing someone, trying to squeeze information out of them - was this how life with Sherlock was going to be like? - and he didn't like to feel that way with his flatmate.

"He is always thinking, his brain never shuts up"- the voice came from the door frame behind him - and when had John gotten this close to the bed, this close to Sherlock? - and he didn't have to turn to know it was Mycroft.

"Leave, I'm fine"- Sherlock said with a disgruntled tone on his voice and made to stand but seemed to regret it once he sat on the edge of the bed and John was right there by his side in an instant.

John knew he should be feeling very confused and like he ought to bolt out of that place while he still could; he didn't need a medical briefing to understand Sherlock had overdosed on sleeping pills and that this was maybe a common occurrence if his brother's behavior was anything to go by.

Mycroft - Sherlock had described him to John as the British Government, but John had yet to understand why - simply sighed and rolled his eyes, while turning to leave the room, not feeling like dealing with his brother.

John followed behind him.

"If you have any questions I can answer all of them, but I'm not sure this is the place" - Mycroft stated and just then John briefly pondered about Sherlock's upbringing, how posh was his family to have this kind of arrogant brother.

"I don't have any question for YOU"- said John and he made special emphasis on the YOU part: - "I just wanted to make sure the door was closed after you left" - he added and tilted his to the left as if expecting the other man to say or do something about his comment, but Mycroft said nothing and simply made his exit, making sure to close the door behind him.

When John made his way back into Sherlock's room he wasn't surprised to find him still sitting by the bed, looking about ready to throw up, for which he was ready with the waste bin at hand.

"So what do you want to know?"- Sherlock asked tiredly and even if John didn't know much about body language he could tell the other male was bracing himself for something.

"Do I need to hide my sleeping pills?"- John asked still standing on the doorway: - "I need to know if I need to keep my stash in a more secret place"- he added for good measure and was glad to see Sherlock's confused smirk.

"No, I have my own thank you"- answered Sherlock and he scoot to the side on his bed and John wasn't sure why he interpreted that as an invitation to sit next to him, even if it isn't John still sit next to Sherlock, their thighs are too close, yet again, but neither seems to mind and so John had stopped noticing a while ago.

They are both staring at the wall in front of them, the silence it's not awkward, neither is it forced, it's just silence and John, for once, likes it. He told Sherlock he wanted to know more, that Sherlock knew too much and gave him little privacy… but here they were and none of them was saying much.

The journalist knew this would be a lovely moment to ask him things, but he really didn't feel like it, not because he would feel guilty about using a moment of weakness - though for the record neither of them would ever display weakness and admit it like that - to his advantage, but he was sure Sherlock would see through his journalistic tricks and deflect… or maybe he wouldn't, who knows.

"I'm starving, you?"- asked John after a very, very long while - so long in fact he had forgotten his hand was resting on Sherlock's knee - and made to stand up, but decided against it and turned to see the other man instead.

"Are you really not going to ask?"- Sherlock asked with confusing showing quite visibly in his features.

"I don't wanna force you. You'll tell me when you want to, if you want to, unders the circumstances you choose to have"- John quoted him and he had a sincere smile on his lips.

"I did say I was quitting smoking"- Sherlock said as if that would explain finding your flatmate ODing with sleeping pills on regular mornings.

"I don't think this qualifies as quitting"- John added and this time he did stand, but remained close, by the bed, in case the younger male needed his help standing up.

"it's just very hard sometimes… my brain won't shut up" - Sherlock said and somehow to John he looked so much younger than he really was… But then again how old was Sherlock anyways?

"I can relate" - John said trying not to say it, but saying it all the same. And a long hard staring transpired between them - definitely longer than it was acceptable, but who cares about acceptable when you are sharing your weaknesses with someone else - and when they were done it surely felt like they already knew each other from ages ago.

"So Sarah. What is it going to happen with her?" - John asked nonchalantly eyes still glued to Sherlock's own grey eyes.

"I have narrow it down to a couple of prospects. Now comes the tricky part" - and when Sherlock said this he looked like a kid that has just walked into a candy store and not a recovering addict: - "I love this part. This is when I get to prove I'm right!" - he added and it was a rather surprising dichotomy, John thought, Sherlock being so open and yet so closed off.

"Well then show me" - John said and he was sure he had choose the exact words Sherlock wanted to hear, because as soon as he said them the most sincere and real smile he had ever seen on the other man was drawn on his lips.

John had shot a man for him. He wasn't quite sure why he had done that, he had not gone into the ethical implications of such a dilemma, but now as he saw this young man he sort of understood.

If he could help Sherlock somehow it gave his life meaning, the meaning it had lost after being released from captivity in Afghanistan. It was twisted and wrong and weird in many ways, but if he could make an statement with being something more than the silent observant, he would take it. As morally questionable as it could be, as psychologically fucked up as it felt, John had just found purpose again.

That night John had accompanied his flatmate into what could only be described as the most bizarre version of speed dating he had ever seen.

They had met up with Sarah - who has started to loose her face and became more of an idea, but seeing her again made him remember the human side of it all - at a pub near Baker Street and had then meet up with several people; some of them John remembered from the times he had gone with Sherlock, and some were nothing but hazy faces and names.

They had probably set up Sarah with at least 7 different people but after a couple of minutes of conversation Sherlock would immediately cut them off and whisk her away to her next pairing.

It was rather interesting really, how Sherlock knew so quickly just from glancing at their interaction, that it wouldn't work. Some might wonder how did he know it wouldn't work, but he knew Sherlock was right, he knew Sherlock to always be right.

She looks about ready to give up, and so does Sherlock; and then he does that thing John notices Sherlock does when he's thinking of something.

"Just one more, promise you'll be open, you said you would"- Sherlock said speaking to Sarah and helped her put on her coat as he wordlessly indicated they were leaving and heading to one last place.

It wasn't that far away, less than 3 blocks, but it was a different kind of club. It didn't take a genius to know what kind of club, since the first thing they encountered when walking in was two guys snogging each other rather insistently… John could not consider himself an homophobic - how could he? With his sister being a lesbian and all - but he was certainly not accustomed to seeing such a blatant display of public affection. However the other two seemed to either not mind it or be completely ok with it.

And yet another lovely confirmation…

They made their way to an empty table and immediately Sherlock went about to the bar, where he started talking to the bartender, a lovely lady with auburn short hair and a mole on her left cheek, which only served to accentuate her well defined cheekbones.

"So how long have you guys been together?"- Sarah, the client, asked, it was probable the second time during the whole night that she had even acknowledge his presence, and John was more than surprised, maybe she did feel uncomfortable here.

"Ummm?"- not the most eloquent of responses he could muster, but he had had a couple of beers already and was actually very tired.

"Yes, you make a lovely couple. You've been together long?"- she restated her question to make it more clear, since that's what he seemed to need.

"We are not…"- he started saying, but before John could finish, his young flatmate had found his way back to them and was taking Sarah away; when he came back again he did so with a smug smile on his lips and two pints of beer.

"Celebratory drinks already?"- John asked taking the drink without much protest: - "You haven't seen if they'll actually click"- he added and took a long chug of his drink.

"They will, look at them, look at the spark. The very predictability of the chemical reaction is beautiful"- said Sherlock and downed half of his drink in one go. John had never seen him this happy? He wasn't sure that was the word he wanted to use, it wasn't happiness, it was more like that exhilarating feeling you get after you finish a hard puzzle… was that what it was for Sherlock? Were relationship summed up like that for the younger male?

John continued to nurse his drink for a couple of more minutes, while the music in the place had turned a little bit more mellow, and the journalist briefly wondered if it was Sherlock's doing.

"Okay, ready to go now"- Sherlock stated and that was when John noticed his flatmate had finished his drink in two swigs… should he be worried?

When they made it back outside - the couple that had been kissing by the entrance was no longer there - John noticed Sherlock's slight sway of his step, but he assumed he would be alright.

"I love these moments, you know"- Sherlock started talking and it was a rare occurrence for them so John zeroed in his full attention: - "It's so calm always, after one of these cases, and there's a brief moment of silence, and I love the silence" - he added. They had stopped walking because John had felt the need to and the other was swaying slightly.

"We should grab a cab" - John said when he realized they had been standing for a very long moment on the sidewalk.

"Yeah we should" - Sherlock answered and almost as if his words alone could call for it, a cab came around the corner and they drov


	7. Chapter 7

As I promised, I finally finished work and had the chance to sit down and work on this… I feel like Sherlock and John are a little bit out of character, but the story requires them to be so different, I feel guilty for deviating so much from their personalities…

But oh well, here it is…

 **On John feeling strangely comfortable**

John woke up the next day to the sound of Sherlock playing his violin- though in all honesty what had woken him up had been one of his nightmares - a very soothing song, a classical maybe but John had no way of knowing, he had never been one for that kind of music.

He stayed in bed even after the last note had resounded on the old wallpaper covered walls of his room, trying to calm down his breathing while allowing the sweat to dry off from his skin; something like 15 minutes later there was absolute silence down in the flat and John wondered if it had been part of his dream - and why would he be dreaming of Sherlock playing his violin? - and decided to make his way down stairs, after all he needed to use the loo anyways.

What he found when he reached the living room was not what he expected…

"What are you doing?"- John asked not moving from his spot by the door frame, there was a slight irritation on his voice, but also another edge on it he didn't quite know how to name it.

Sherlock had his laptop opened and was going through what looked like an email account - he hopped not his - if he went by the glow of the screen.

"Email obviously"- the other male answered as he clicked on something and started typing what John assumed to be a response.

"That's password protected"- John stated finally making his way towards Sherlock.

"Quite obvious John, you should probably think of another one"- Sherlock answered and gave no sign of feeling in the least bit remorseful about his action, while still typing away.

A brief though passed John's mind - trust issues, said his therapist - and he was standing right besides Sherlock; sure the younger man got like 5 centimeters - more like 8, but nobody was any wiser anyways - on him, but this was a man that had seen war and had no qualms in shooting a gun if he felt like it.

Sherlock didn't stop typing but acknowledged the other's presence with a sideway glance.

And all of the sudden the laptop was shut closed - Sherlock had almost had his fingers crushed - and taken away with a huff.

If John was honest with himself, he wasn't in the least bothered by it, is not like he kept anything too personal in there; he was actually quite surprised by the feature… only he would do that, be amazed by git who was invading his privacy, talk about stockholm syndrome…

"Your retelling of the case we helped Scotland Yard with was something"- Sherlock stated with a neutral expression but John could tell he had brought it up to rail him up.

"You liked it?"- John asked deciding to follow the banter, just to amuse himself.

"Nop"- the young psychiatrist answered while keeping a smug smirk on his lips: - "I cannot see the war journalist in you. All the description of the case was rather romanticized to be honest"- he added and turned towards one of the windows overlooking onto Baker Street.

John just sighed not feeling like continuing the banter anymore, he was hungry and that made him cranky; when he opened the fridge he was greeted by the sight of absolutely nothing.

"We need milk"- Sherlock said from the other side of the flat and when John turned to him he saw him now standing near the window, his violin in hand: - "Take my card"- he added and turned away to start playing.

John wondered a couple of things in the next couple of seconds: was he ever gonna not feel amazed at how Sherlock always made abnormal comments sound so surprisingly common? How did Sherlock know he was about to tell him he didn't have any money for groceries? And why was he being assigned the domestic task of getting them sustenance?

All these question shuffled through his brain rather quickly, but since he knew he had no answer he grabbed for Sherlock's wallet, already having accustomed himself to the familiarity of it, pulled the card out, took his laptop and made his way to his room without even bothering to ask Sherlock if he needed anything else.

After having changed - Sherlock was still playing his violin when he left - John made his way to the nearby Tesco and found himself buying more than he would have if it had been his own money, but then again he was buying for two, wasn't he?

When he arrived he wasn't surprised to find Sherlock still in the living room, typing away in the laptop - his own laptop this time, John checked - and received no greeting upon entering, but yet again no surprise there either.

"We need to go to the bank"- Sherlock called from his place by the window and John didn't bother to answer because he knew Sherlock already knew he would follow anyways.

"When you said we needed to go to the bank I didn't imagine you meant the actual bank"- John said as they walked through the crystal door leading to the corporative building of HSBC, Sherlock walking as if he owned the place and making his way immediately to the reception desk.

"Listen Sherlock, let's not use the word 'partner' ok? It gives people the wrong idea"- John said while they waited.

"What do you mean?"- asked Sherlock, his eyes going over every single detail in the place, he always did that and it made John feel like he was not being paid attention to.

He was about to explain to Sherlock the misunderstanding the word had created with the last client, which had made her believe they were other kind of partners - which they most certainly were not - but was promptly interrupted by the receptionist leading them to the elevators.

They were taken to the 42nd floor, where they were greeted by a beautiful secretary - John took notice of how curvy the woman looked on that very tightly fitted white skirt - and then shown into the office of - if John was to believe the sign at the entrance - Sebastian Wilkes, director of the trading floor.

"Sherlock Holmes"- called a man entering the room, obviously the owner of this office.

"Sebastian"- was Sherlock's acknowledgement of the other man's presence as the other man cladded in what John could tell was a very expensive suit, extended his hand as a greeting.

"How long has it been since we last saw each other? Like 8 years ago maybe in…"- The man started rambling but was swiftly interrupted by Sherlock.

"This is John Watson, my… friend" "colleague" - Sherlock started and then John interrupted at the same moment, fearing the other might call him partner again, but upon realizing the term he cringed at the awkwardness of the moment and his interruption.

"Well have a seat then. You need anything? Water? Coffee?" - Sebastian offered and John didn't miss the smirk the executive had in his lips, a very self sufficient smirk, but not like the one he had grown accustomed to see on Sherlock.

"I see you are doing well. Travelling a lot"- Sherlock commented conversationally and John felt a little bit of discomfort in the tone.

"Well, some"- answered Sebastian with that smirk still plastered on his lips, John was feeling rather ambivalent about the blocke.

"Twice around the world in a month, I would say rather impressive"- Sherlock added with a blank expression but John couldn't help the lopsided smile at the observation, he knew his flatmate was right, but he would like to know how he knew.

"Ah you are doing that thing that you do. He does this trick in which he can read you like a book, he would just…"- Sebastian started saying but John cut him off mid tirade.

"Yeah I know, I've seen him do it"- he said shifting uncomfortably in the chair, these kind of places were not his cup of tea, too restricting, boring, dull…

Sebastian just looked at John with something that felt too much like a glare but didn't quite cut it, maybe he was trying to be diplomatic, but failing at it.

"Go on then Sherlock, enlighten me. How did you know? A stain on my tie that's particular to a place, or mud on my shoes from some other place?"- Sebastian asked and you didn't need to be a genius to understand that he was mockingly undermining Sherlock.

Why were they here anyways? John wondered.

"No, I was just talking to you secretary outside"- Sherlock said in a neutral tone and John had to stop himself from laughing since he knew perfectly well that was a lie and Sherlock had indeed deduced all of that information by observation.

Sebastian laughed a polite laughter while Sherlock smiled one of his forced smiles and John could not feel more amused at the situation.

"Glad you could make it. I have a situation in the office and I'm sure you can help me"- the man stated and John noticed Sherlock going in deduction mode: - "There's been a break in" - Sebastian said and made to stand up from his chair, but John's question stopped him.

"Why Sherlock and not the police then?"- asked the journalist and he noticed the slight tension on the other man's face.

"Let me show you"- he said and finally made to stand up, waiting for them to follow suit, but Sherlock took a little bit more of time to stand up that John thought was needed; he didn't think the other was necessarily stalling, but maybe he was reading something from the interaction and he just needed to keep it going.

When Sherlock finally started following, Sebastian started explaining again.

"The ex president of the bank used to have his office here, nobody uses it anymore, but we've left it there like a sort of memorial"- he said as he made his way through a sea of cubicles, and John could never imagine a more restricting place; he wasn't sure why he was making mental notes of things and people that looked suspicious or out of place here, it's not like they were doing detective work here... Or were they?

"Someone broke in here last night"- Sebastian almost whispered when they had reached the entrance to what looked like a very large office space, door locked and only opened with a card swipe.

When they walked in they were greeted to a very minimalist, but obviously very expensive office, a large but stylish desk and chair and a very large portrait of who John assumes to be the previous owner. However there was something rather not good with portrait…

"Vandalized… we could say"- Sebastian states matter of factly and John feels like that's the understatement of the century.

The portray had a bright yellow line painted covering the place where the eyes would be, but that was not the most surprising thing about it at all, what caught his attention was the huge heart - a pig's heart, actually, as Sherlock later explained - pinned to painting with a large butcher knife.

"Nothing was stolen, they just left this little message"- Sebastian said and John didn't fail to notice that smirk again as the man turned to Sherlock, as if they were sharing a joke, except the joke seemed to be lost to Sherlock.

"Surveillance footage"- Sherlock said and even if it sounded too much like a question it really wasn't.

"This is where it gets tricky, There's a gap in the tape. One minute, someone came in, did this and left. Not through that door though, as you saw it needs a special card"- Sebastian said and kept his eyes trained on Sherlock, who seemed to be absolutely lost in thought at this point.

"The window then"- Sherlock stated and made his way to the small terrace to find himself looking down 42 floors above into the busy streets of London.

"I think this has to do with a little bit of office romance that we had been trying to keep at bay, but it seems it hasn't been successful"- Sebastian said and the tone in which he said it made Sherlock stop his observations and turn his attention fully onto the man speaking to him right now. He didn't feel the need to urge Sebastian to elaborate,he was certain his raised eyebrow was enough of an incentive.

Somehow the silent exchange between the two younger men made John feel a little left out.

"Everybody knows that in this line of work you can hardly find a true companion, someone you can trust… sometimes you have to branch out of your regular field, if you know what I mean"- Sebastian said and yes John immediately understood what he meant, but as soon as he turned to Sherlock he realized he didn't.

"Yes we do. I'm assuming then you came to us to avoid the press digging in too deep into these kind of affairs then?"- John asked even though he was sure it was a rhetorical question, but was pleased to see Sebastian nod minisculely at the question; Sherlock seemed very much lost at the moment.

"This means a bridge in our security though since we have no idea who did it. I have a five figure cheque right here, tell me how this person got in and there's five more figures"- Sebastian said pulling out a piece of paper, very obviously a cheque and a smug look on his face.

"I don't need incentives"- said Sherlock and marched back into the cubicles area.

"He was just kidding, here let me look after than for him"- John said as he took Sebastian's cheque from his hand and could not help the surprised expression on his face when he saw the sum written on the piece of paper.

Walking back out, John was surprised to find Sherlock perusing around the office place, with complete disregard of the stares he was getting at himself; he wasn't sure if Sherlock understood it was not ok to poke into a cubicle, a personal work space, and intently stare at the person inside it to then immediately walk back out without an explanation, but then again this was the man that had complete disregard for a survivant of a war kidnapping with trust issues.

"Sherlock"- John felt the need to interfere however, when he saw his flatmate taking pictures of two blokes that were chatting up somewhere near the copy machine, he noticed how uncomfortable the situation was making them and felt he could relate a little: - "Excuse my friend, he has Asperger's"- John said and pulled Sherlock away.

"Asperger's? Really? Out of all the very interesting syndromes and diagnosis you chose that one?"- Sherlock whispered resentful as he allowed John to pull him to the elevator.

"They were getting mad Sherlock"- John stated directing his eyes at Sherlock, who was now leaning against the elevator wall as they made their way down into the lobby of the building.

"That was the whole point John, it's easier to get information out of angry people"- Sherlock stated and seems to be pouting but gets himself together when the door to the elevator opens up once again at floor 37 and a beautiful petite and feminine lady walks in.

"Morning"- she says as a greeting and both Sherlock and John nod as a response; Sherlock cannot help himself from grinning as he turn to John who is looking at him puzzled, mainly because he doesn't quite understand Sherlock's smug smile.

"Sorry, but I have to ask. Are you by any chance Sherlock Holmes, dating consultant?"- she has such a sweet and tender voice, it feels like if she spoke any higher she would break.

"Yes I am"- and answers and produces a business card from one of his pockets: - "You can contact me here if you ever require my services"- he states with a smile John has come to fear, because he knows is his business smile, kind of like the smile he imagines the devil would show you just before you sold your soul to him.

"Ah thank you"- she says and with a perfect smile she gets off on the 12th floor.

John looks at Sherlock curiously.

"Don't look at me like that. It would be like killing two birds with one stone, besides you liked her didn't you?"- the younger of the two stated and stepped out of the elevator not even waiting for John answer.

"Well, she is pretty"- John said after catching up to Sherlock.

"Perfect! Then is settled then, you will ask her out when when comes over later tonight requesting my dating consultation, right colleague"- Sherlock spat and if John didn't know any better he would say Sherlock was plotting something evil.


	8. Chapter 8

This one is a little bit shorter… I'm trying to pull the story back into dating consultant, but Sherlock, as usual, is doing what he wants… *sigh*

I hate it when characters seem to have a life of their own, but it looks like this Sherlock is far too pulled to this kind of cases, however it is a case of the heart… of sorts hahahaha

I feel a bit discouraged that my characters seem too weird right now, but I'm trying so here goes, the awful chapter 8

 **On being a high end prostitute**

John was not all that surprised when at around 7:46pm a long ring on their door bell indicated that the young petite and beautiful lady had finally arrived.

John had shown her her way into the flat and he didn't even have to pretend to show interest, Sherlock was right, she was totally his type, quiet and feminine and yes, he could admit to it, a submissive quality to her personality he found endearing.

Her name was Clara, a rather lovely name if he thought about it, and she was giving obvious sign of interest towards John,but also towards Sherlock… the signals were getting kind of mixed.

Sherlock had been very charming and all smiles and attention and John found that rather disturbing.

"Well I'm sure we can help you; we would just need to collect more data on the kind of man you are interested on. If you wouldn't mind, you could have dinner with my colleague over here and discuss the details"- Sherlock said with such a seductive tone that it really irked John to the end of the world, but he wasn't sure why; was it because he could tell it was an act? Or was it because it was such a good act it almost made him believe it?

"You won't be joining us?"- Clara asked showing some small disappointment - understandable, John agreed, if you could have two handsome man instead of just one, why not? - but still showed some interest and it was so very easy to see it in her body language.

"I'm sorry, some business I need to tend to"- Sherlock said and gave her a killer smile: - "But I'm sure you won't be disappointed with my colleague John. Would you have some time to do it tonight? You know, the sooner the better"- he added and John was more than sure there was not even a need for convincing.

He was sitting on _his_ usual armchair, but he was very obviously leaning towards her and he was sure Sherlock could read him and was using all of this to his advantage.

John was not as blind and unobservant as some people thought he might be, or maybe even as he made his flatmate believe. He could tell Sherlock was planning on using this girl to learn a bit more about the case Sebastian had given them.

"Well, in that case, would you allow me to use your loo? I need to refresh a bit"- she asked directing her eyes to John.

"Sure, right this way"- he answered and showed her the way; when he came back he found Sherlock, all emotions previously acted completely gone, his neutral mask back on, and he was now in the _Thinking Pose_.

"That is not nice Sherlock, you cannot just use people like that, I know what you are trying to do and it is not fair"- John whispered hurriedly making his way to stand very close to his flatmate, he didn't want Clara to listen.

"This is hardly unfair for anybody. She just asked for my services because she wanted a quick shag and assumed that was implied in my services. She's your type and as I stated only wants a quick shag so even better for you, but please do take your activities to her place, when she offers, I have work to do over here. Just chat her up, get as much information out of her workplace as you can, try not to seem to eager or obvious and you should be fine"- was Sherlock's response as he stood up and started pacing around the place, he could hardly wait for the information whe would provide; he knew he could not ask anyone from Sebastian's floor, but from other floors he was bound to get information.

"But Sherlock, this is using her"- John threw back at Sherlock, still bothering to whisper while casting nervous glances at the bathroom's door.

"Well she is going to use you anyways, I don't see what the problem is. You get to dine and wine and then get a good shag, what's the problem there?"- Sherlock added with a normal tone, sitting on his leather couch looking like this was the most normal situation.

"You are going to charge her for this?"- John asked still speaking in hushed tones even if Sherlock didn't feel the need to do so - he actually knew it wasn't necessary because she could not hear them at all.

"Of course, do you think diner and wine pay themselves? Don't worry, I'll give you half of what's left from that money"- the young man said with a smug smirk on his face.

"I'm not a… high end prostitute!"- John whispered outraged.

"Definitely not high end. The prices for a high end prostitute are way higher than this"- Sherlock stated matter of factly and John found himself again pondering over ridiculous matters, such as how did Sherlock know the prince range of a high end prostitute, or how John should very well be considered a high end prostitute because he was by all means high end - though maybe not so much a prostitute - and finally, did this make Sherlock his pimp?

"Are you ready Clara?"- said Sherlock and it took John a minute to realize the woman had already made her way back into their living room: - "Reservations had been made in The Ritz at Piccadilly. I'll send you the fees later of course"- Sherlock says with a disarming smile.

"Shall we then?"- John asks and Sherlock cannot help himself from smiling; for someone that was protesting about the whole situation John certainly seemed eager for it.

Maybe this idea of a flatshare was not that bad after all...

The clock in the mantelpiece read 3:41am, not that Sherlock was checking for the time, he knew John was not coming back until very likely well after 8am later today, he was sure he was the considerate kind of lover that liked cuddling and all that, he wasn't sure Clara was like that, but whatever.

Which is why when he heard the keys jingling and the front door being opened at 3:46am he was surprised to see John at the entrance of the second floor flat.

"Well that was quick. Did I read it wrong? I suspected you were a throughout lover, but it seems I might have been miscalculated"- was Sherlock greeting, but the smug grin on John's lips said other story.

"You could ask her, I mean I might have overdone it a bit"- John answered removing his black jacket and hanging it on the rack by the door, the smirk still very much in place and Sherlock was sure that was invitation for him to read into it.

"Four times, really? And you even agreed to her toys"- Sherlock said redirecting his gaze to the wall he had been looking at: - "Interesting, I would have pegged you for a more traditional kind of lover"- he added trying to sound unconcerned.

"I'm offended Sherlock. I'm not some old fashioned tart"- John said jokingly

A beep sounded in the room and Sherlock fished his cell phone from his pocket.

"The payment is done"- Sherlock said and a full blown smile appeared on his face: - "And the included tip sure covers the fees of a high end prostitute" - he added and showed John the screen of his mobile, where a very high number appeared.

They looked at each other for a couple seconds and then couldn't contain the laughter that bursted out; it took them well over 10 minutes to stop laughing and by then John had found his way to the floor, near the coffee table while Sherlock leaned against one of the chair they had in the living room area.

"Well, what did you manage to find out anyways? You hardly had any time with her"- Sherlock asked and his voice was very light, and John kind of liked that.

"We ate in 30 minutes, she was in a hurry it seems"- John explained and stood from his place in the floor to his armchair - _his_ armchair - and making himself comfortable: - "Nice touch, her place was only 10 minutes walking, and we pretty much jogged there. You know Sherlock, you are wrong, people say a lot more when they are having sex"- he adds with a smirk on his lips.

"Spare me the details and do tell me what information did you get"- Sherlock says exasperatedly and finds his way to the leather armchair, his armchair, in front of John.

"Well, apparently pretty much the whole of the 37th floor of that bank has the largest female population in the building, and all of them want to partake in the sausage festival of floor 42"- John starts explaining, notices Sherlock winces at the expression _sausage festival_ , but allows him to continue without commenting: - "However, rumor is they are all gay, or at the very least nor particularly interested in any of their female areas. However all of them seem to be involved in some kind of _relationship_ with women that don't work at the bank, some of them are even married. Also, as much of a secret as Sebastian thinks the little vandalized event is, everybody in the whole building already knows"- he adds and observes Sherlock, seeing if he can tell the exact moment in which Sherlock goes into that weird trance he goes into when he gets lost from the world - and what a moment to be observing that, John thinks.

"Anything else?"- Sherlock asks ashe notices John seems to have something else, but for some reason seems distracted, is he tired? He should be boosting with endorphins, but maybe he is tired, he didn't sleep that well the previous night...

"Yeah, they all seem to be talking theories on the event, the most popular appears to be an angry wife; it looks like is very common occurrence to have bitter wives come at the place and cause a riot"- John answers and feels for some reason embarrassed at having lost himself in his observation of the other man.

"No, bitterness is a paralytic, love is a more much vicious motivator. All the wives of any of those men entered into those marriages knowing fully well what they were getting themselves into, they are only bothered when the other part of the bargain is not fulfilled"- Sherlock explains and John feels like that sounded too detached.

"Then who do you reckon the message is for?"- John asks and Sherlock gives him a funny look: - "What?"- he asks feeling exposed, thought that's a regular feeling when living with Sherlock.

"You change your speech too much, is confusing"- Sherlock answers.

They look at each other, measuring the other; to any other this would seem a rather loaded moment, but John was becoming rather accustomed to these kind of moments - and if he was honest with himself, he liked them; he liked not always being the one observing, but being the one on the receiving end of an observation.

"The message was intended for all of them, or at the very least, a vast majority of them. We need to get more information from the 37th floor, but also on the activities that these men do on their free time"- Sherlock said pensively tapping a finger to his lips.

"How do we do that?"- John asked, but wished he had not done so as soon as Sherlock turned to see him with a glint in his eyes, a glint he had already seen before a couple of hours ago.

Before Sherlock can elaborate his phone starts ringing.

"Morning"- Sherlock answers the phone putting it on speaker.

"There is a new development of the situation"- says Sebastian on the other side of telephone and Sherlock makes his way to the hanger where his long black coat rests. John looks at him not quite understanding what's happening: - "There's been a murder"- says the man in a whisper and Sherlock is already reaching for his blue scarf.

"We'll be there shortly"- Sherlock answers, but before he can say anything else there's a ring of the door bell.

"Sent someone to get you"- Sebastian says and hangs up.

"You sure have weird acquaintances"- John says as he follows Sherlock to the stairs, grabbing his black jacket on the way out; when he went to turn off the light of the living room he saw that the clock by the mantelpiece read 4:27am.

"Come on John, we need to get there before the police"- Sherlock called after him, he was already opening the door down stairs.


	9. Chapter 9

**I gota admit, I feel a bit discouraged because I really don't get any reviews... I wonder if the story is not that good... maybe it isn't because Sherlock keeps doing whatever the fuck he wants and then John is just too sassy for his own good.**

 **I had a conversation with a friend over this thing I read about there being two kinds of people: the** ** _Sherlocks_** **and the** ** _Watsons_** **; we had a long discussion ad to who we were... I think my friend identified as a Watson, while I still cannot decide myself; I'll admit I'm pretty self destructive and I most certainly dab a bit on the not so high functioning spectrum of the emotional intelligence, but I have never considered myself on the smart super genius side either...I'm too average to be a Sherlock, but I'm too useless in social interaction to be a Watson... I also suck at the whole taking care of people...**

 **So here I am at 1 in the morning pondering if I'm a Sherlock or a Watson and if I should continue writing this or just dedicate the rest of my holidays to watching RuPaul's Drag Race All Stars Season 2...?**

 **So here it is I guess the chapter 9 ...**

 **On trusting**

"So _why_ do you change your speech so much?" - Sherlock asks nonchalantly once they are inside the car that came to pick them up.

John cannot help himself to let out a small laugh when he turns to Sherlock, who is looking very intently to the road ahead of them, trying to pretend as if he's not eager for the answer - which he isn't, he really doesn't care either way, it's just annoying because it breaks the patterns and is confusing and Sherlock despises confusing, he just wants to know.

"I was … in Afghanistan for a very long time. Longer than any journalist normally would. But the stories were so real, so human. People tend to forget there's real people over there fighting so that we can have lovely peaceful days over here. But I had to come back and be their voices and give a face to all of that immaterial reality of war" - John started saying, but then all of the sudden it seemed as if he had lost any motivation to continue; when he turned to see Sherlock he saw an emotion in his normally composed face, something that resembled an attempt at empathy, but how could Sherlock even understand? He had no way of knowing. Still to John it felt like Sherlock did know and after a long minute of silence he continued: - "It was some time in June, like the last days maybe. One of the blokes from the British base I was allowed to stay in was escorting me towards Kundar, where we met up with another journalist, from Australia, and two American businessman. We were all to be escorted to the airport that would takes us back home"- John paused for a moment, feeling again like he needed to get his ideas under control, it all felt like a big jumbled up collage of memories and he needed to allow his brain to rebuild the timeline.

"We are here" - said the driver and it felt like they were pulled out of a trance.

Before Sherlock could say or ask anything, John had already made his way out of the bad and towards the rotating door of the bank's building.

They were taken to floor 42 and Sebastian was waiting for them by the elevators doors.

"The police has been called, we cannot do anything about it now. But maybe you can help me figure it out before they get here"- Sebastian states and starts leading them into the maze of cubicles. Once they reached the one at the far end on the left they walked into a rather weird spectacle.

"He wasn't killed here. And why is he posed like that?"- Sherlock pondered out loud.

"Because whoever killed him wanted a picture"- John offered and made his way to the left end of the desk in which the young man was leaning against, his head had been positioned to be resting on on his right hand that was bent resting the forearm against the table, almost in a pensive sort of posture: - "He looks rather whimsical if you ask me. The lighting hits him just right" - John added turning on the desk lamp that had been moved to stand near the man and pulling his camera phone out took a picture and handed it to Sherlock.

On the wall,written in what John believed to be blood, was a message _'The one moment that matters…'_

"Quite artistic John. Didn't know you had those refined inclinations"- Sherlock said in what he hoped was a friendly tone and examined the picture.

"Serial killer? Don't they tend to take trophies?"- John asked nonchalantly.

"Everybody's an expert now"- Sherlock said mockingly and made his way out of the cubicle: - "I assume the cameras didn't catch anything either"- he stated matter of fact walking over to the big window pane by the left end of the large room, pushing lightly on the glass to have it open easily: - "So through the window"- he added and looked down: - "The police is here. I can think of a way around this, but we need a good actor"- he said and turned to John.

"What?" - John asked confused.

"What do we need?"- Sebastian asked: - "Well, aside from the police's cooperation"- he added as an afterthought and John was still looking between a very smug looking Sherlock and an anxious Sebastian.

"What is the freak doing here?!"- they heard from behind them and Sherlock's smik only widened if that was even possible.

"I've hired him to investigate on a specific matter, he was only advising me"- answered Sebastian standing in full height and extending his hand towards the newcomer - Detective Inspector Lestrade, who John had met when he first moved with Sherlock, and Officer Donovan, an annoying and quite blunt officer that worked closely with DI Lestrade- making sure to arrange his suit coat as he did: - "Sebastian Wilkes, director of this banks trading floor. I called you because we found one of my traders dead here"- he stated and gave the DI a once over.

"I see; why is it that you are often involved in situations like this Sherlock?"- Lestrade asked not even bothering to be surprised about the turn up.

"We have a request of sorts. Help me help my client and I'll help you find the culprit of this. Win-win situation"- Sherlock said with his big fake smile plastered all over his face, but John was too confused and out of sort to be paying him any mind right now.

"How am I supposed to help you?"- asked Lestrade and Sherlock could feel the irritated edge on it, so he made a mental note to keep on his best behavior and try not to irritate him _too much_.

"Just don't let the press know it was a murder. We'll call it a break in, someone got badly injured and died on the way to the hospital and in the meantime I investigate, and by 'I' I mean _we_ of course, and we solve this quickly"- Sherlock explains and waits as patiently as he can wait for the response.

"And why would I do that?"- Lestrade asked and a little bit of that edge of annoyance had slipped away and Sherlock knew he could push a bit more now.

"Because you don't wanna crash the stock market Lestrade. You would be helping your country really"- Sherlock said and he could see that there was no need for more convincing, now he only had to work the details of it.

"And how do we do that then?"- Lestrade said and if that was not him conceding then nothing else was.

"Well we just need a scapegoat, someone that is not well known around"- he said turning towards John again and even if John's mind was miles away right now, he was very able to connect the dots.

"You want me to pretend to be a robber?! No Sherlock, a high end prostitute was funny, but I will not damage my image, my reputation over…"- before he could finish his sentence Sherlock was already talking over him.

"You would be using a disguise and the police would make sure you would not get a picture taken from too close or give them a discernable profile"- Sherlock explained calmly, as if it was a normal occurrence that you were to suggest to your flatmate to put on a costume and appeared in front of national telly…

"Where are you gonna get a costume for me right now?"- And John could not believe himself! Was he really accepting and walking into this madness?

"That's the simple part, you just have to look the part; the police will do the rest"- Sherlock stated matter of factly and immediately turned to Sebastian, asking him for a guard's uniform from the extras that they kept in the surveillance room.

What the actual fuck!? John hadn't even said yes to the plan and Sherlock was already orchestrating the whole thing!

"I told you, you should have walked away while you still could"- someone said from behind him and he turned to find officer Donovan: - "He just uses people, for all that charade of being a dating consultant, he's a heartless prick"- she added.

John wasn't sure how he felt about people like her; he wasn't necessarily some kind of advocate for bullied people, he was certain she was right - Sherlock did use people to his advantage, but being honest everyone did, he was just most honest about it - and he could totally agree with his flatmate being a prick - certainly selfish and arrogant were also in the list of adjectives he would use to describe him - but somehow he wasn't so sure about the heartless…

"John?"- Sherlock called after him, the look in his eyes showed something he could not quite put a name to. He would never say that Sherlock seemed open or friendly, he was most certainly not nice or lighthearted… but there was something in those eyes - today they were some weird mix of green with a tint of brown, maybe the lighting - and he felt a strong need to give it a name: - "You coming?"- he asked and that's when John saw it, _trust_ , Sherlock was showing him trust, in his own way, but it was trust.

"Excuse me, I think I have to go be a scapegoat"- John said making his way to Sherlock; he pondered briefly over Sherlock's older brother's words when he first met him - _Could it be that you decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?_ \- but since John was never the pondering type, he just walked away from Donovan and towards Sherlock, who was already making his way into Sebastian's Office.

"Ok John I need you to put this on"- Sherlock said dumping in his arms what looked like a too-big-for-him security guard's uniform: - "We need to stuff it a bit, to make your body look different, but we'll make do"- he added and then turned to Sebastian to ask him for something to stuff John's costume.

John had never really been a self conscious man, he came from a big loud family - his dad was scottish - and he rarely felt the need to be prude about getting undressed, specially in front of other male; so with ease he started removing his clothing but was surprised to hear the gasp coming from somewhere near the door and when he turned to see, he found Sherlock with his back to him, looking rather uncomfortable.

He snickered to himself, go figure, his posh flatmate was a prude after all.

"Here's some more clothes you can use to fill it up"- Sebastian said walking in and he exchanged a look with Sherlock that John didn't really understand.

"Ok, so this is really big so…"- John didn't quite finish his sentence, unsure on how one should indeed finish such a sentence.

Sherlock made his way over to John, with the heap of random items Sebastian had brought over, when he looked over Sherlock's shoulder the man was gone and the door was closed; for someone that a moment ago had found it to exposing to see your flatmate change clothing Sherlock was sure not having any problem with invading John's personal space while stuffing the uniform that he was wearing with random clothing items.

"Never a dull moment with you eh?"- John said with a lopsided smirk on his lips.

"Well…"- Sherlock left the sentence open, because he was sure they both knew that that was precisely the reason as to why John stayed: - "I'll give you a beard"- he added and out of nowhere he produced and eyeliner from his coat pocket - John suspected Sherlock might have pickpocketed from someone, he had noticed his flatmate had a tendency to do that - and started working on John's face.

John couldn't help but notice how intently Sherlock was working, it was interesting; sure he had seen his flatmate hard at work, but never this close… They were indeed very close… It felt weird to have someone stare so intently at your face, John briefly wondered if this is how big shot artist felt when under the light spot.

"Does it make you feel uncomfortable because you were sharing something personal?"- Sherlock asked all of the sudden and John was surprised to see verdigri eyes staring at him: - "Or is it something else?"- he asked and stopped moving and pulled a little away and John wasn't sure why he felt like his face had moved a bit with Sherlock, but managed to pull back to put some more distance between them: - "I still want to know, if you want to share that information with me. I don't want to pry though"- Sherlock added without even giving John the chance to answer.

"The press is here, we need to do it now"- Sebastian said opening the door behind Sherlock and John was surprised by how far Sherlock moved away from him in such a short period of time: - "You did a great job Sherlock, I can hardly recognize him"- added the man with a smirk on his face, one that for some reason irritated John.

"One more thing though"- Sherlock said and making his way back to John he wrapped his own scarf around John's' neck: - "For good luck. Break a leg"- he said and no sooner than that Lestrade came in and eyeing John - a look of sympathy flashed briefly in his eyes, before being replaced with a feeling John was getting quite accustomed to: frustration - he took him and dragged him away.

"I hope you know what you are getting yourself into"- said the Detective Inspector before the door of the elevator opened.

John couldn't help himself and he turned back, to see Sherlock looking at him with a look he now had a name for: _trust_.

"Nope, no idea"- answered John and flashed Sherlock a smile through the closing doors of the elevator, he could have sworn he saw a sincere one in return.


	10. Chapter 10

So I have been sick a lot lately, not hearing lots of encouraging things from the doctor and the latest medical examinations... which is why I haven't updated much... I'm not sure a lot of people care about it tho... I'm far more preoccupied with a RL situation... My best friend knows I'm sick, but I haven't told her what it might mean, I mean I know she knows, obviously; she might be distracted and oblivious 95% of the time, but I get a bit of the 5% that's left, not always, I probably get like a 1% but it counts... Why am I even writing this? Is not like she reads this, or like any one has anything to say hahahaha I just want to tell her, but I don't wanna tell her... My story with her can be somehow equated to John and Sherlock's relationship, but I am yet to figure out if she's Sherlock or John, and what does it matter right? So yeah whatever... here it is the chapter 10

 **On getting to know you...**

John pondered briefly why, oh why, did Sherlock had in his possession a batch of make up remover wipes, he could have asked, he was sure Sherlock wouldn't mind giving a very throughout explanation, but the journalist in him decided it wasn't worth knowing right now.

He was beyond tired, both mentally and physically and wasn't even sure about the time of the day - hell! He didn't even know what day it was! - and so he pulled his cellphone from his pocket only to realize it had ran out of battery.

The charade had been quite successful to his surprise, but Sherlock seemed to have expected it - but he was not fooling John, he was actually enjoying having gotten it his way - and they had spent quite a long time at the Yard analyzing the evidence they had obtained at the place while DI Lestrade busied himself with press statements… John was not jealous of that job, he knew very well how the tabloid press could be.

While there, John got to see a side of Sherlock he hadn't seen…

There had been a constable who had been sitting on the very end of the big police department, John would not have noticed her had it not been because Sherlock had turned to see her making copies.

When DI Lestrade came back he started talking to the two of them, but Sherlock just stood up at one point, claiming to need coffee, but John saw him walking over to the woman who seemed very confused to have him right there; he was oddly friendly and even, dare John say it, flirty - John wasn't sure how he knew that was act, but he did - leaning towards her and giving all the signs of interest, and you didn't have to be a dating consultant to be able to tell.

Later on Sherlock had explained that he was merely pushing the situation on the right direction, since one of her coworkers - another constable that had been sitting not even three desks away from where she was, but John had completely failed to notice - was interested but didn't seem to have the motivation to do much about it.

He had been left pondering about Sherlock's motivations about that…

"Is 10:47am on Thursday March 31st" - Sherlock answered the unasked question coming into the bathroom, the door was wide open is not like John needed any privacy to remove make up - in all honesty he needed help, because he certainly had no clue what he was doing - and the water in the faucet was running and every once in a while John would try to rub off some of the make up on his face with soap and water: - "Here, I'll help you"- he added and pulled out one of those make up remover wipes.

It took John's brain a little bit to catch up to the fact that Sherlock was removing his make up; not a lot of people had ever been these close to him. Obviously he had partners and he was in no way against physicality, but he was an englishman through and through and so the whole idea of physical proximity was as foreign to him as the name of the British prime minister was to Sherlock.

"I was held hostage for over a month"- John blurted out, not quite sure why he said it, maybe it felt like it was the normal thing to do when the moment was as suffocatingly intimate as this one.

Sherlock made no sound, he didn't nod, he didn't hum, he didn't do anything that could hint as a sign that even slightly implied that John should continue… but as usual, there was something underneath the whole blank stare on Sherlock's face that made John feel like there was an unnamed feeling? Not, not a feeling, perhaps an idea? John wasn't sure, contrary to popular belief he wasn't very good with those kind of words. He had an ample vocabulary for pain, and anger, and red and all the things people chose to overlook when they were not nice things to look at.

"We were in the same room, but we were so far apart. People don't realize how important human contact is until they are forcefully deprived from it"- John continued talking; he couldn't really tell, but Sherlock had finished removing all the make up from his face, but he just kept the make up remover wipe on John's face, almost as if to give himself an excuse to keep touching John - and why oh why did he need to be touching John? - and maybe to encourage him to continue: - "The australian guy made a lot of lighthearted jokes at the beginning, but after a week it felt like they had broken his spirit. He always said that people believed he was british and that he never really corrected them"- he said with a pulled smile - one of those smiles you really don't wanna have on your face, but feel like you need to put it there, to ease the tension on the words you just uttered - and Sherlock stopped bothering to pretend he was still removing make up, his hand holding the wipe laying limply by his side: - "He was the first one that got killed, I'm not sure what week it was or it was in the nighttime or daylight; all I know is he said ' _You reckon they'll kill us?'_ and then they did it, they just shot him and didn't even bother to take the body out for several hour, or days or God knows how long"- John said and he felt like he had ran out of energy, he no longer had it in him to say anything else; maybe it wasn't what Sherlock wanted to hear, probably he had been too emotional about it, but he didn't care anymore, it was out and that was just fine.

A long silence settled between them, and John was distinctly aware that Sherlock's blue eyes - he had a white shirt, and white always brought out a blue hue to them - were locked on him, but his own gaze was set on the green tile of the kitchen, which he could clearly see from where he was standing inside the bathroom… this flat was rather small, how could the two of them fit in this place?

Sherlock was the first one to move - to John it might have felt like an eternity, but it was no more than two minutes, Sherlock had actually counted - binning the make up wipe remover, still not saying a thing.

"Sorry I unloaded all of that on you, I don't even say this to my therapist; maybe is the psychiatrist vibe you give off"- John said not quite sure how to lift off the weird mood that had set in the room.

"Well I'm far more expensive than your therapist"- Sherlock said and for a moment John felt offended, but then he noticed a smirk well hidden on Sherlock's lips.

"Well I am a high end prostitute, maybe that'll be enough"- John added jokingly and they both let out a small laugh and somehow that felt like enough; John didn't need Sherlock to _thank him_ for sharing something personal and Sherlock didn't need to say any stupid comforting words.

"What happens now? Who killed that bloke at the office then?"- John asked feeling the need to rinse off the feeling of the make up remover from his face; Sherlock gave him some space, leaning against the bathroom's door frame.

"Well as I said, we need to continue investigating into those girls at floor 37 and you already provided a way in, we only need to let them come"- Sherlock explained with a cold expression and John got the distinctive impression his flatmate was trying really hard not to care.

"What do you…" - but before he could finish his question there was a long ring bell and John saw a creepy grin form on the other man's face.

Sherlock went to answer the door and John took those couple of moments to finish making himself presentable.

The sound of Sherlock's _nice_ \- fake - greetings reached John and he couldn't help the raised eyebrow, even if there was nobody there to see it. Had he been any other person, someone more introspective perhaps, he would have wondered how was he able to tell when Sherlock was being fake if he had only been living with the man for a month… But he was not any other person, he was not in the sligth-less bit introspective, so he didn't even ponder about this and simply went out of the bathroom to make his way into the sitting room area where he knew Sherlock would take the client.

When Sherlock walked in John had already found his place by the fireplace and had set up a chair for the client - a beautiful slender woman, with legs all the way to heaven and long straight jet black hair with a pair of matching dark eyes - and the psychiatrist had to fight down a grin to reach his lips.

"Here"- Sherlock said indicating the seat for the lady and making his way to his own place: - "How can we help you?"- Sherlock asked with his game face on and John couldn't help the grin.

He wasn't very sure why he found Sherlock interesting; sure, he was a genius when it came to reading people like books, but behaved in a manner that made people believed he didn't care - John had come to accept that Sherlock's scale of caring was slightly different from the average person - which made him probably not the most popular man in a room.

But when it came to his clients, there was a hint of a different Sherlock, sure, maybe a revised made-for-all-audiences Sherlock, but still very Sherlock.

John wasn't sure how he came to notice these things about his flatmate - maybe it had to do with the fact that the first week he moved in Sherlock spent it silently observing ( _glaring_ ) at him which in turn signified that he had a lot of time to observe the other as well - but maybe between the silences he had learnt something about Sherlock he had not even asked… or maybe he was just imagining things…

They sat there talking to the woman for about an hour, but not a lot of information was gathered; she left after receiving a call she had taken on the foyer and coming back to inform them their services would not be required.

"She just wanted to make someone jealous, it worked it seemed"- Sherlock said making his way to the kitchen sounding annoyed at having wasted an hour of his life.

"What do we do now? We need to find a way to get more people to talk to us"- John said walking into the kitchen to find Sherlock making tea and giving him a strange look he asked: - "What are you doing?"-

"Tea, you don't need great powers of observations to see that; even you could deduce it"- Sherlock said with no real bite to his voice, while rummaging in the cupboards for a mug.

"No shit Sherlock!"- John said and stopped feeling like he knew that phrase from somewhere: - "I wasn't aware you knew how to make tea"- he added when he couldn't remember where had he heard that phrase.

"I'm an Englishman John, of course I know how to make tea"- he answered rummaging the drawers now, searching for a tea spoon.

"The one on the left"- John said immediately realizing what his flatmate was looking for.

Sherlock paused and gave him an odd look and then rummaged some more and finally got the spoon.

"We might need to go to the bank again, find out if there's any parties going on"- Sherlock said now busying himself with the process of making tea, John was still a little surprised by the event he was witnessing - of course Sherlock knew how to make tea, why had he never made tea before? The bastard! - that the words that Sherlock had said almost escaped him.

"Parties? How can there be parties? Someone just died!"- John said and almost didn't notice the mug Sherlock casually placed in front of him while moving back to the living room area. The journalist almost missed the meter of his line of thought, _almost_.

"Of course there's parties, There's always parties. I'm sure we can find a way into one of them through Sebastian"- Sherlock answered from his armchair in the living room and pulling his phone out he dialed Sebastian: - "We need into a party"- he stated in a business-like manner and John actually heard the laugh on the other end and the other man's voice saying ' _I thought I would never see the day I heard you say that!'_ and without further elaboration Sherlock just hung up.

"So a party"- John stated in a very pragmatic manner while Sherlock kept on sipping his cuppa.

"I assume you have clubbing clothing"- and John was sure he had heard some scorn on the other's tone of voice, almost as if the mere idea of 'clubbing clothing' was something one might find in a Saturday morning at the bottom of the stairs of Piccadilly Circus Station.

"Not sure if what I have will be good enough"- John said truthfully, he was sure any party that a yappy broker would go to was most certainly way out of his league.

"We can work with that"- Sherlock said, finish his cup of tea and making his way to his room.

John almost missed Sherlock's smirk, _almost..._


	11. Chapter 11

This was a long way coming wasn't it? It took so long to upload for a series of reasons, but the most important of all is that I was so upset about the last episode of season 4 I couldn't find it in me to write anything, which is why I ended up with this chapter, which is loosely based (I'll let you deduce how loosely) on a personal experience... very funny to retell, but not so funny to have lived it since I was quite young and not necessarily a knowing participant of the event hahahaha So anyways, here it is, episode 11 of this series, sorry for being upset and not writing, but I got over it... tho not really

"Wear black"- Sherlock yelled from downstairs on their living room area.

His alarm clock's red glowing numbers read 10:18 pm and he thought, not for the first time during the night, if he was too old to be going out clubbing; he was sure to stand out like a sore thumb amongst young druggie yappies, which very likely wore ridiculously expensive clothing - probably one of their absurd dress shirts were far more expensive than all of his own wardrobe - and had outrageously extravagant cars and houses and…

"John really, just put on something black! We are running late!" - yelled Sherlock and John could tell he was standing at the bottom of the stairs that led to his room, probably considering going into his room to drag him out.

And being blatantly honest at this point he was feeling tempted to allow that to happen because if Sherlock didn't force him to go, he was very certain he didn't have it in him to go anywhere at this point.

It had been a very long day and he had barely gotten a couple hours of sleep during the afternoon; he had actually managed to find some time to update his resume, though there was a hunting suspicion floating around ' _What could a war journalist do in a war-free-zone?'_ , but he had to pay rent and bills and live life, so he was going to do it, so once he had finished he uploaded and sent his resume to as many places as he could forgetting to be picky a very long while ago and hoping for the best.

"John you are being quite ridiculous"- he heard just behind him and turned to find Sherlock dressed in…

"Leather?"- John asked

"No, leather imitation. Leather pants are impossible to remove on a pinch"- Sherlock answered looking quite irritated, as if that last statement was obvious, as if everyone should know that leather is very difficult to remove: - "What's taking you so long? Let's go!"- he said impatiently no bothering to wait for a response from his flatmate and pulling him towards the stairs; John only managed to grab his cellphone and wallet on his way out.

John wasn't sure where did it come from, but a very suspicious looking black car picked them up, and the drive was done in complete silence.

It was never in John's nature to be a quiet man, he had always been known for being the curious kind, partly the reason how he ended up in journalism really; but life in war zones had taught him that sometimes you need to not ask questions, he felt right now was one of those times. He didn't necessarily felt threaten nor did he feel like he was in immediate danger, for some reason he was moderately - almost, not quite, like if we are talking percentages it will be something like 48.6% - leaning towards feeling convinced that Sherlock would not put him in a situation that was unreasonably dangerous…

Well yeah, John seemed to like risky situation, he could admit to that.

But for some reason his mind wasn't registering being driven around in an unknown car driven by complete strangers with no clear destination as a perilous situation.

They drove for what felt like forever, and upon checking his cellphone he realized they had been in this car for a good forty minutes.

They were most certainly not in London anymore, and with so many turns he wasn't even so sure he knew if the car had been driving them north or south - besides it was dark, very dark; and he had spent a lot of time trying to get Sherlock's attention to ask him what was going on, but failing at it since Sherlock seemed far more interested in his cell phone, the blueish light from the screen the only source of light in the otherwise dark car - and at one point it had started drizzling.

Far ahead John noticed a large villa, with a large array of expensive looking car parked outside.

"Oh! We are here"- said Sherlock finally putting his cell phone away and extending his hand to John: - "I need your phone. They won't let us in with a phone"- he added as a form of explanation.

Now this, _this_ should have been a red flag, a big warning signal; but when the car parked almost in front of the building John simply stepped out of the car and started walking towards the villa not even questioning himself about it… In retrospect, John was not very good at decision making - ergo moving to a flat with Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh by the way put this on"- the psychiatrist said putting an eye mask on John.

This is the kind of things moms warn their kids about: getting in cars with strangers that have asked you to wear black and drive you to the outskirts of the city in the middle of nowhere to then take your phone and don you with an eye mask that you hope makes you look like batman instead of a poor attempt of a thieve, like the ones you see on cartoons.

"Password"- said the tall buff man that was standing in the entrance of the place.

John always pictured those exclusive swanky gatherings would be in a different kind of location, but then again, being quite middle class himself how was he supposed to know what the upper crust prefered for their venues on this sort of things.

"He's with me, he's vanilla"- Sherlock answered for him; now looking back that was probably the third of many more warning signs, but as the rest to come, John dismissed it as well - if only his therapist could see him now, trusting his mental flatmate - and walked into the place; a white wristlet now dangling from his right wrist.

The enclosure they walked in looked the part of a lavish backyard and a terrace, very calm, mostly lounge music, at a very decent volume. John had expected to find an obscene amount of alcohol, however there was none to be found, not even wine - John always assumed that's what posh people drink - or any kind of liquor. Where were the drugs and prostitutes? He had always wanted to inhale cocaine out of a hooker's arse… but nothing. The only strange thing was everybody was dressed in black, with eye masks… Well actually that was very strange on itself so maybe that was enough.

Sherlock moved around the place as if he owned it chatting and making small talk everywhere he went, and John just followed feeling like he didn't belong there at all, and he was certain he didn't but was honestly not too bothered about it. It's not like he was going to start coming to these kind of social events more than this one time.

"Mingle would you"- Sherlock whispered angrily to his flatmate which earned him a humorous snort from John.

"In case you haven't noticed I am most certainly out of my element"- the journalist said looking around the place, noticing for the first time since they had arrived that there were some people going inside the building into what looked like the actual party had taken place. So that's where all the cocaine and prostitutes were hiding?

"Then act like you are"- was Sherlock's answer and then he left him there by the table with the beverages.

John simply leaned against the table, allowing his mad _flatmate? Partner? Pal? Mate? Friend?_ to flutter around like the social butterfly he was pretending to be.

"Terrible pick up line, but do you come here often?"- said a voice to his left and he turned to find a tall and young looking male, all dressed in a velvet like suit.

"No, not really"- John answered allowing some of the humour to filter in his voice.

"So is your first time here?"- he asked; even if John could not see his face he could tell quite a few things about this fellow, he was tall, had blondish hair much like his own, was very obviously young and had a lot of money - you didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to know that though, it was obvious, otherwise he wouldn't be here.

"Yes, something like that"- John answered and turned towards the other male, the guy was obviously trying to chat him up, flattering, but not really his area.

"You here with someone?"- he asked and John instinctively looked for Sherlock in the crowd.

"Yeah, My flatmate"- he answered and when he turned to the guy he saw a strange expression he immediately understood: - "Oh no, is not like that. He really is just my flatmate"- he elaborated and briefly wondered why he felt the need to explain to this guy that Sherlock was just his flatmate.

"Oh, that's good"- answered the other guy and John felt that maybe having the other believe Sherlock was more than his flatmate could have proven to be better than the alternative that seemed to be presenting itself; John knew it and he knew people could tell this about him, he was a not a pushover, but he knew himself enough to admit that it was hard for him to say no to people - which is how he often found himself in terrible dates, disastrous parties and sharing flats with madmen… well that was only once, but still - and it more often than not ended with him in a difficult position.

"Having fun?"- asked a voice from besides John and when he turned was glad to see his flatmate.

"Talking"- he answered and turned to the other male who now seemed a little put off by the presence of Sherlock.

"He's new to the scene"- said Sherlock now talking to the man in front of them; John wasn't sure what he meant by that, but it felt like that sentence was explaining something that john had no idea about: - "Trying to introduce him slowly to it for now" - Sherlock added and somehow this made the other man's posture change from a guarded one to an honest more bare one.

"What a good friend you are"- the man said and John wasn't sure how he could tell, but he noticed Sherlock drop the act and feel slightly off kilter.

"He can make his own decisions"- Sherlock stated and his voice sounded off, not like it had been sounding all night.

"And you cannot help yourself but to fall on the role that leads, right?" - said the other man and it had a taunting ring to it, John could tell this was a fight of sorts over… him?

The atmosphere became heavy with something John did not understand, actually John was pretty sure all of tonight was about him not understanding a single thing; for any other person this would be a terrible position to be in, but somehow, for him right now, it didn't really matter.

"I'm going inside, if you guys need some _help_ I'll be around"- the man said and turned around and walked towards the entrance to the only building in the property.

John scanned the area once he saw the guy had walked in and noticed how very few of the guests were still lingering in the outside courtyard.

"Why are we still out here? Shouldn't we go inside too?"- John finally asked and turning to Sherlock noticed him staring at the door to the building with an inkling of foreboding.

"I have been trying to avoid it, I hopped we would not need to go inside. I guess it cannot be helped"- the younger of the two stated and that weariness John could see on his stance was very present in his voice.

What could there possibly be on the other side of the door that Sherlock felt John wouldn't like to see?

"Let's go then"- John said and made to start walking but Sherlock still stayed where he was: - "What is it?"- he asked turning towards his flatmate and caught onto the fact that piercing blue eyes - the black button-up shirt he was using was making his eyes look rather blue tonight - were staring at him.

"Are you sure?"- Sherlock asked and for a moment John felt like he should say no; Sherlock was giving him the chance to back out and go home… but as we have already established John had never been very good at decision making.

"What's the worse that could happen?"- John asked rhetorically, but he felt Sherlock was already coming up with a lengthy answer for him: - "It was rhetorical, don't answer" - he added when he noticed his flatmate was opening his mouth.

They looked at each other, John could tell he was being measured and realized he had become accustomed to this from Sherlock.

"Well then…"- Sherlock said trailing off as he started making his way towards the building.

John had made very bad decisions in his life, but he was never one for regrets, if anything, at least it would be a fun story to tell his mates when he met them for drinks next week… and man was this going to be a story!


	12. Chapter 12

_My health seems to be taking a turn for the worse these past couple of days, so even if I did have the time I most certainly didn't have the energy... it has been very difficult to find it in me to continue writing for many reasons..._  
 _My "John" (or is she my "Sherlock"? I don't know...) is moving away and even if I know I'll see her it won't be the same and I feel like utter crap about it... which in turn has made me absolutely depresses and unwilling to write... and the insomnia and pain is certainly not aiding matters at all..._  
 _But my OCD is pushing me to finish what I started and well I'll do it!_  
 _So here it is, chapter 12_

 **On physical proximity**

Nothing could have prepared John for what he was to find inside the building.

He had no reason to be mad at Sherlock, he had implied that maybe he shouldn't go inside, even gone as far as to have kept them away from the building for the majority of the night - though a good old honest explanation from the beginning would have been better… but being honest with himself, would John had not come with his flatmate had he known? He was starting to believe that he would have come anyways - that did not mean he was not going to absolutely beat the crap out of him… or maybe not… would Sherlock like that?

After having spent a good hour and a half outside in a low lighted place, going into a bright white enormous room meant he was certain to be blinded; he was not so certain to what he actually saw in there.

At first no sounds reached his ears, but when he walked in, shielding himself from the blinding whiteness, he turned to his right and the scene he found there was not something he had seen this up close before; sure, this kind of sexual positions were intriguing, and as a teenager he had seen his fair share of provocative porn, but…

There was a man suspended from what he could only describe as a swing, facing down while his behind was exposed - quite literally - to the person behind him, who happened to be a stunningly beautiful woman… with a strap on… while diligently penetrating the man from behind… well, at least he seemed to be enjoying it, though John could not quite say since the man was gagged and his hands were tied… to each their own he guessed.

As soon as the image registered in his brain, the obscene sounds finally caught up to him and he was assaulted with a cacophony of slapping and moaning and grunting and skin against skin.

He felt the ghost of a hand on his lower back and was startled to find Sherlock standing so close to him.

"Don't look at them like that"- his flatmate whispered and without really touching him, he led John to a small lounge area that seemed to be in the middle of the room; John wasn't really in the contemplative mood as to notice that many details about the place. He was no prude, by no standards, he had seen his share of stuff and was not close minded or anything of the sort… but a warning would have been nice.

The onslaught of sounds was beyond distracting and the feeling of Sherlock's hand somewhere near his lower back but not quite touching him, was making him rather confused and distracted.

Once sitted, John could not find it in himself to look up and look around; saying he felt out of place was an understatement, he was overwhelmed and - yes he could admit to it - more than a bit scared. He felt he was entitled to bolt for the door, but now that he was inside something - aside the idea of a bruised ego - was holding him back.

"If you are feeling uncomfortable you can leave, nobody would think poorly of you. You are new to the scene anyways"- Sherlock said and John had never been more aware of someone standing this close to him… did his flatmate usually stand this close to him and he had failed to notice it? The other's breath was fanning right on his left cheek: - "You can wait outside for me, I won't be long" - the younger male added and made to pull John up and guide him to the exit.

"No, I'll stay here"- John stated matter of factly as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, as if he wasn't standing in a lounge area surrounded by what - no mistake about it - was a BDSM club with several scenes taking place - not that he knew much of the lingo of this community, but he had read his share - and his flatmate was standing very close to him, so very, very close and he was making no attempt at building some distance between them; and he almost, almost believed it himself.

"John"- Sherlock voice sounded guarded and dangerous - which was maybe the more reason as to why John wanted to stay even more after that - and when John dared to turn to see him straight in the eye, Sherlock's eyes looked a strange shade of silver.

"You brought me for a reason, so tell me what do I do?"- John asked with a daring light in his eyes and Sherlock knew that it was impossible for him to see a red glint of the other's electric blue eyes, but as illogical as it seemed, it was there.

"Well, if you can help me buffer, I need to blend in"- Sherlock said and never had he sounded more unsure to John as he did right now… did he think the journalist couldn't deal with this? Sure it was quite shocking, but he had seen his share of horrendous things, Sherlock must know that: - "But whatever you do don't engage in any form of interaction with…" - he continued saying, but trailed off as his silver eyes widened noticing someone behind John, somewhere to the left of him.

"Who is it?"- John asked and was about to turn around to see but found himself being stopped quite forcefully by his flatmate hands on his shoulders.

Sherlock's expression turned quite stern and John could tell that whomever his flatmate might be watching it wasn't a pleasant person to be around, not that he liked many people per se, but it looked like he particularly disliked this one.

"Well look at you, brought another client here"- a female voice could be heard over the moaning and slapping sounds around them, and when she used the word client, for some reason it felt humiliating or dirty.

"He's not a client" - Sherlock started saying and John knew exactly what his flatmate was going to say next… no. They were not colleagues, they were flatmates, they were friends, they were…

"He's my…" - and in a strange repetition of random events the universe decided this was John's opportunity to redeem himself from last time… but the universe is rarely so lazy: - "partner" "colleague" - they both said at the same time and even if he did not believe in karma, he was more than certain that if there was ever an example of karma, this was it.

Sherlock could not keep the surprise from his eyes, as his gaze snapped immediately to John.

The war journalist was pretty sure that calling himself Sherlock's partner in this kind of setting was without a doubt going to be misinterpreted, but as we have very clearly established John was not known for his decision making abilities - What with the whole studying Journalism, and then following people into war… shooting a gun to save a complete stranger, twice in his life so far - and so he decided he would stick to his guns and defend his position, since stubborn was in the list of both the strong qualities and defects of John Watson.

"His partner"- John states again and finally turned around when Sherlock's hold of him slacks, right hand extended as he turns to greet the person - a woman, very obviously a woman - with a stern expression and a sneer that tries to pass up for a smile but fails miserably.

"Lovely"- she says and takes his hand and John feel a bit nauseous at the feeling of her skin touching his: - "So here on business I presume"- she says and it sounds like a question but it doesn't feel like it should be answered.

"Sort of"- Sherlock answers and John realizes once again how close they are standing, but he makes no move to put some distance between them… he briefly considers that his flatmate was right, he did crave human contact more than he believed he did, he had never thought about it before, but now as he felt a strong pull towards Sherlock's body heat he briefly - very briefly, no more than a second really - considered the notion a bit worrying.

"Is there any way I can help?"- she says and starts making her way towards the back, leading them towards an inconspicuous door; John is not quite sure if he should follow but when he feels the now very present hand of his flatmate pushing him forward - a warm and strong feeling on his lower back - he starts moving… the hand stays where Sherlock placed it, but for some reason John stops noticing it after a couple seconds. It makes Sherlock ponder on whether John notices the gesture at all, but he doesn't feel inclined to deducing his flatmate right now.

Once they walk through the door all the sounds and smells get blocked out and John finally feels at ease - or at much at ease as he can fill when walking into a dark room with a woman carrying a riding crop - and can at last start making inventory on the strange femme fatale that had lead them here.

"Maybe…"- Sherlock answers vaguely and John turns to see him remove his eye mask - his eyes look a very dark shade of blue on the poor lighting of this room, and if he had felt more observant, John would have caught that strange feeling when seeing his flatmate's face again and tried to give it a name… but as it was, John didn't feel particularly observant and it all went unnoticed.

When John turns to face the woman again he sees that she has also removed her eye mask and has a dangerous smirk on her red lips; and if John was indeed a romanticized writer as Sherlock believed him to be, he would have described her as a much more animalistic or mythical creature that feed off from human blood.

"What can I do for you?"- she asks again and walks towards John and removes the mask for him, but John doesn't even flinch: - "He likes danger doesn't he?"- she asks looking over John's left shoulder and he knows her to be directing that question to Sherlock, but he answers instead.

"That I do"- John says and can feel Sherlock's smirk on his lips even if he cannot see it, and for some reason that makes him feel like smirking too.

"You have a dangerous individual in your establishment"- Sherlock starts saying and John cannot help himself and snorts a laugh: - "I mean to say a possible murderer"- the psychiatrist adds with an insinuation of mirth on his voice: - "I just need some alone time with someone" - and now his voice sounds composed and cryptic, but John doesn't feel inclined to try and decipher the meaning of that.

"So should I keep your partner entertained?"- she asks and her hand found purchase on the journalist's right shoulder and he cannot stop himself from flinching, a natural reaction he has whenever someone gets close to his wound. He feels a hand on his lower back again and is surprised to see her putting some distance between them and is not until he glances to his right that he becomes aware of how close his flatmate has positioned himself.

"He can keep himself entertained just fine. I would appreciate if you just made sure he's not taken away by some of the most commanding characters from around"- Sherlock simply states and John feels like he should be offended.

"I missed something, haven't I?"- John asks and turns to find metallic blues eyes staring right at him. Had Sherlock always had that brownish freckle on his left eye, it's just floating there like an island in the middle of an ocean of metallic blues and greens.

"I'll look after him, don't worry"- she answers bringing them back from each other.

"Okay"- Sherlock mumbles and then makes to move away, he seems unsure, as if he wants to say or do something but cannot decide what that might be and so he simply ends up walking away; and that's when John notices all that time Sherlock's hand had been on his right shoulder and he had not even noticed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Well I have been sick as hell, not sleeping for almost 4 days on a row can do that to you; I'm not quite sure what threw off my sleeping patterns, but oh well...**

 **Not like I think there's many people out there waiting for this but okay...**

 **A study on craving human contact**

The three of them made their way out of the secluded room and as soon as they stepped out Sherlock was out of sight.

"Go sit over there and watch, if you want to"- she said to John and without waiting for a response, walked away.

After the initial shock had worn off, John could say he was feeling okay - not absolutely and perfectly fine and the sounds of skin slapping against skin and the moaning and grunting was quite distracting and disturbing still, and not in an enticing manner at all - and he could make his way to the small lounge area in the middle of the room.

He couldn't help but to feel like a kid that was being baby sat, because even if she had left him to his own devices, he was certain she was keeping an eye on him. In any other occasion he would feel bothered by it, but right now it made him feel … - safe? Was that the word he was looking for? He felt very confused right now… and where in the fuck was Sherlock?

"Your friend abandoned you?" - asked a familiar voice behind him and when he turned he managed to recognize the man he had been talking to before, when they had been outside and he had pondered where was the actual crazy party taking place.

"I guess he sort of did" - John answered not quite sure why he felt slightly angry at Sherlock.

"Feeling curious? Want to have a try?" - the bloke asked and the journalist was pretty certain this was more than straightforward flirting… or was this how things went around here? Was this direct approach the normal way in this place? Was John supposed to say yes? Or how was he supposed to say no?

"I'm not too sure…" - John's words ended up lingering in the air as his eyes found Sherlock's electric gray in the crowd. The tall pale man appeared calm but there was something to his eyes that made him look bothered. He was talking to a stunningly perfect looking couple, his hand resting confidently on the shoulder of one of them.

John wasn't sure why he felt a tight knot on his lower abdomen at the sight of Sherlock's large hand making their way down the back of the male he was talking to; the woman, standing to his right, has her left hand resting somewhere near his pale wrist, where she could probably feel his pulse - and John couldn't help but wonder if he were to feel for Sherlock's pulse would it be beating fast or would it be poised and controlled, just as he seemed to be right now - and her long red nails appeared to be digging into porcelain white skin.

Something happened then that has never happened to John, it was almost as if he could hear his flatmates thoughts through his eyes: ' _distract him'._

"I don't think I'm quite ready for that just yet" - said John suddenly placing his hand effectively stopping the other male from turning towards where Sherlock was, not certain as to why should his flatmate go unnoticed by this fellow, but feeling that that's what he needed to do: - "I gotta say though, watching is interesting. Maybe you wanna show me around the place?" - John added and without needing to turn towards Sherlock, he could sense the tension from the other dissipate.

The journalist wasn't very sure he had the right game for this circumstance, flirting with a bloke could not be the same as trying to pick up a lady, but he assumed he was doing something right judging by the smirk on the other male next to him.

"Sure" - was the simple answer he got and soon a strong hand found it's way to John's lower back.

He has a brief moment to ponder if he gave the impression that he was the kind of guy that liked those types of gestures and an even briefer moment to stop himself from pulling away from the hand - Had Sherlock not done the exact same gesture mere moments ago and he had practically leaned to the touch? He would have asked himself that, but he didn't have time for those thoughts as the only thing he could do was to look for Sherlock in the crowd as discreetly as he could - and he fought with the muscles in his face to put a smile on his face for the other male.

In silence - well I say silence - they made their way around the room and John couldn't help but feel very conscious of Sherlock's position in the room; but he was trying to not make it obvious to the other man, that had yet to remove his hand from John's lower back - and he might not have time to ponder as to why Sherlock's hand felt normal on his back, but this bloke's didn't; but he had time to question what kind of personality was he projecting that blokes felt like they could be that way with him… maybe he should ask Sherlock after all - with a confidence that John would normally exhibit with women.

They stopped near a group of five people, 3 male and 2 female, engaged in a rather erotic and risque sexual activity. John's erection was obviously very present, but in all honesty this voyeuristic activity was not doing much for his mind; sure it was hot as fuck - no pun intended - but it felt too surreal to be meant for him to participate in any of this. He could understand if there was people that got off on these kind of activities, and that was great - John did take a moment to speculate over Sherlock's opinion in the matter … and then took another moment to mull over the fact that he was speculating about it - but this was definitely not his cup of tea.

As surreptitiously as he could, John searched the crowd for his flatmate. The couple he had been talking to was talking to another couple, Sherlock nowhere near them. He started feeling slightly panicky and frantic as he eyed the crowd and found no sign of silver gray eyes and jet black curly hair amongst the crowd… What if he had found the murderer and had ran off with him and was now in danger? Or what if he had gotten pulled into one of those scenes? Sure if Sherlock did not want to be in one, he would say no; but what if he did want to? Would he abandon him here in order to indulge in his own sexual needs? Not that there was anything wrong with that, Sherlock could do whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted, John could not care less at this moment, in fact he was going to walk out of this wacky place, go back to his flat, have a relaxing sit down and watch some crap telly.

"Let's go"- he heard the very familiar voice from his flatmate say from somewhere behind him to his left, being very conscious of the hand that had been resting on his lower back for a while and was making him quite uncomfortable.

"He's busy"- answered the man to his right, the hand now finding purchase on John's left hip and the journalist couldn't help but to try and lean away from the pull of the other man.

"No he's not"- Sherlock said and even though he could not see it, he knew grey silvery eyes were intimidatingly staring at the other.

He felt the hand slowing removing itself from his hip and the body next to him rebuilt the distance between them very swiftly.

"Well you abandoned him, I was just keeping him company" - the bloke said and when John turned to see the interaction he felt oddly uncomfortable at the tension between the two, intense electric gray and black pools of hatred: - "All yours again"- the man said and, with a bit more forcefulness that John would normally allow, gave a push on John's shoulder blades shoving him towards Sherlock.

Sherlock's steadying hand on John's left shoulder helped him remember he was not supposed to punch random strangers in the face just because they felt entitled to be pricks; when he turned the bloke had already walked away.

"Let's get out of here"- Sherlock said and lightly guiding John with a press on his shoulder started walking towards the exit.

John had never been more conscious of the lack of contact between himself and someone else as he was right now, and in a daze he barely realized how they got out of the place and got into a cab.

How much distance was there between Sherlock's left thigh and John's right hand as they were sitting in the cab?

"Fourteen centimeters"- Sherlock just said, out of the blue. John's wide eyes searched for Sherlock's in the darkness of the back of the cab, feeling for the first time actually exposed, having the irrational feeling that his flatmate might be able to read his mind, but no, he couldn't: - "No, I don't read minds, I observe"- the psychiatrist answered, his face half hidden in darkness: - "Tonight you had been constantly realizing that you do indeed crave human contact, which is not uncommon in kidnapping victims that had been forcefully deprived of touch, is a form of torture. But being a proper English man you were wondering if it was okay to actually crave human contact, which is obviously okay, and then you were looking at your hand resting on the seat and wondered how much distance was there between your hand and my thigh and if it would be okay to breach that distance"- he explained and John felt torn between feeling angry or amazed… it looked like the latter was winning: - "And it is, by the way"- Sherlock added and the light of a passing car shed light on his face and his eyes were a very different shade of blue, one John had not seen before… interesting.

"Good"- was John answer and his hand moved towards the other man sitting next to him, stopping just short of a touching it, but he could feel the radiating heat of the other's body. At one point the car jostle them about and his hand finally touched Sherlock's leg, but nobody said anything about it.

When they reached Baker Street it was pretty much daylight and John felt briefly glad that he didn't have a job, because there was no way he was going to not fall asleep as soon as they got off the cab.

"Get some rest John"- Sherlock said as they passed the threshold of their flat and made his way to his room, shutting the door behind himself so very softly that if John had not been listening intently he would not have heard - and why was he listening intently? Well, that was a thought…


End file.
